Notwendiges Verlassung
by Nalanzu
Summary: Teaser: When Aya and Ken are captured during a mission overseas, Yohji and Omi are left to pick up the pieces. Warnings: yaoi, angst, physical pain. Completed
1. Prologue

Kritiker works outside the law.  However, as an organization, it operates under the knowledge of, and such protection as can be given by, the Japanese government.  Each agent of Kritiker knows that the mere existence of the organization is classified, and sanctioned though it is, can never be acknowledged.  Should an agent of Kritiker become compromised, he is instructed to suicide; retrieval is not an option.  As Kritiker becomes more successful in stamping out those dark beasts, it must expand to meet the challenge of the world around it.  It will take on challenges outside its native soil, but only those which directly affect Japan.  These missions are delicate and dangerous; moreso than those carried out within Japan herself, for there is always the possibility of a weakening of international relations.  These missions are given to those with the most experience and finesse… 

_Weiss_.


	2. Part One: Mission

Author's Notes:  It's been nearly eleven months since I started this, and I think I'm finally nearly satisfied with it.  I do know that the word "Verlassung" isn't quite a word in German, but hey, language is fluid, right?  Please enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it, and sorry for the nearly four-month wait from the initial posting of the teaser.  This will be updated on a weekly basis, unless I lose internet access, in which case I ask you to bear with me.  Enjoy!

* * *

_Part One: Mission_

"Oi, Ken-kun! Where are the white roses we ordered last week?" Omi had to shout to be heard over the sheer volume of far too many crazed girls packed into the tiny store. There were at least a dozen crowded around Omi alone, and he was backed into a corner and therefore only accessible on two sides at once. 

"I have no idea! I thought we ran out yesterday!" Ken's sheepish expression came as a sudden source of amusement to Omi, overworked as he was. As they all were, he amended, even though he was the only one with a full-time commitment _besides_ Weiss and the flowershop at the moment. 

He turned his attention back to the redhead in front of him. "I'm sorry, Sakiko. We're out of white roses. Perhaps pink…" There were times he thought he'd drown in the sea of raving feminine humanity, but eventually they all cleared out. For a few brief moments, the shop was blessedly empty as all the teenagers on their way home from school had to complete their daily trek and fulfill familial duties. Omi didn't really care _why_ they left, just that they did. He glanced at his teammates. 

"I'm going out for a smoke," Yohji announced abruptly, and vanished. His apron fluttered to the counter behind him. 

Ken rolled his eyes. "One of these days, I'm going to get him to quit," he announced. There was a distinct lack of response from anyone else. Omi mused that Ken had probably made that statement on at least a weekly basis since he and Yohji had finally stopped dancing around their feelings and started, well, "dating" wasn't quite the right word. "Fucking like minks" might have come closer, but it was more than just the sex. Omi wanted to put the relationship down to simply hormones and the stress of placing one's life in danger on a regular basis, but it didn't quite fit. He just hoped that once Weiss was over, the two men would be able to continue caring for each other in the ways that they so obviously did now, even if they weren't quite ready to admit how they felt. 

His train of thought was interrupted by Yohji's complaining. "Aw, come on Manx, can't a guy finish a cigarette in peace?" Omi's mouth twitched. Hectic and crazy as his life could be, burdened as his conscience was, he had no desire for anything else. Not yet, anyway. 

Manx appeared in the doorway, followed by a sulky Yohji. The little grin Ken wore when Omi glanced over said quite plainly that he knew the cause of Yohji's uncharacteristic crankiness, and that he had had a definite hand in it. The twitch at the corner of his mouth blossomed into a full smile, and Omi followed Manx down to the basement. 

The four assassins distributed themselves throughout the darkened room, with Ken gravitating towards Yohji, Omi on the foot of the stairs, and Aya silently leaning against the wall. Manx slid the tape into the player, and an image flickered to life on the screen. It wasn't Persia, of course, as Persia had died some time ago. The computer-generated likeness looked remarkably like their old mentor, though, and never failed to give Omi slight chills. 

"Weiss," the stentorian voice began. Omi paid close attention, as he always did. Lack of attention to detail led to not being prepared, and that could have fatal consequences. Aya was just as focused as he was, giving Persia every ounce of his attention. Omi smiled again, just a little, because the redhead was so … so Aya. There was no other word for it. 

The mission was routine, in that it dealt with a government official involved in child pornography; what was worse was the suspicion that it was a snuff ring as well. Omi's gaze hardened. "Manx, I think we're all in on this one," he said firmly. He could see the support on his teammates' faces, sickened as they were by the actions of the yet-unnamed man. 

"You haven't heard it all yet," Manx said, sounding slightly irked that they had interrupted. 

"What else is there that we need to know, Manx? He's hurting _children_." Ken's mouth was twisted in disgust; he'd always had a soft spot for kids. "He deserves to be taken down." 

"The man's name is Alistair Morrissey," Manx told them coolly. 

"That's not a Japanese name," Aya pointed out in the brief moment of silence that followed, stating the obvious as his teammates were still too confused to respond. 

"Correct, Abyssinian." It was Manx' turn to entertain an amused smile. "He's rather highly placed in the CIA." Seeing more than one look of confusion still present, she explained further. "It stands for Central Intelligence Agency. It's the American intelligence organization." 

"You mean…" Yohji trailed off. 

"That is correct. Should you choose to accept this mission, Weiss will be carrying out its assignment in America. It will require a greater level of infiltration than what you've accomplished in the past. Two of you will be sent in as bodyguards to Mr. Morrissey, and the other two will be outside, waiting for your teammates to let you in. I'll leave it up to you to decide who will be the insiders, but I need your answers before you leave. I don't think I have to tell you that Weiss is treading on very thin ice here. You can_not_ leave witnesses." 

"Dammit, Manx, I'm an assassin, not a spy," Yohji retorted. Apparently cuddling with Ken while taking in mission data hadn't helped his bad mood any. 

"Fine," Manx said curtly. Apparently she wasn't in a good mood either. "Ken and Aya, you'll be given papers to confirm your new identities. Omi, Yohji, you two –" 

"But my English is better than both of theirs," Omi interrupted. "Shouldn't I be one of the ones on the inside?" 

Manx shook her head. "You look too young. It would compromise the security of the mission. You and Yohji will be waiting outside. The specifics of the mission are up to you four. Your plane leaves early tomorrow morning." 

She turned to leave, and paused when Omi voiced yet another question. "Why are we worrying about an American? He's not even in Japan." 

"His partner is operating in Japan. Kritiker feels its best that both sides be eliminated." Her face took on a warning cast. "It's better not to ask questions, Omi." 

* * *

"I can't believe this." Ken paced around the room, bugnuks flashing in and out of the leather glove. "We've been here for nearly two months!" 

"Calm down." Aya's voice was cool and commanding. He stood by the open window, red hair ruffling in the freezing air leaking in. 

_He has to do that on purpose. No one could stand in so much overdramatic wind by accident._ The thought shot irrelevantly through Ken's brain, forgotten in the next few seconds. "But Aya, it's been nearly _two months_. Kritiker is going to have our asses for this." Snikt, snikt. The claws popped in and out. 

For his own part, Aya was fighting a growing headache, and Ken's pacing and complaining weren't helping either. He wasn't sure how to get close enough to Morrissey to kill him either. The man made sure to have at least four bodyguards on hand at all times, switching shifts so that the same two or three men were never on duty at the same time more than once or twice in a row. It was hell on a sleep schedule, but Morrissey was of the opinion that it prevented plotting against his life within his staff. Of course, he was entirely correct in that two of the members of his staff were indeed part of a conspiracy to kill him, but from what Aya could glean from the other guards, this crazy system had been in place for a while. He thought, somewhat resentfully, that if he hadn't been planning to kill the man in the first place, he would do so out of sheer irritation at Morrissey's paranoia. 

_Snikt. Snikt. Snikt._

He rounded on Ken and forcefully brought a hand down on the other man's wrist. "Stop." Ken started to protest, but something in Aya's face apparently made him obey. So he hadn't lost that ability to freeze with a look after all; he felt a tiny bit of satisfaction from that. He'd been sorely out of practice, spending the last two months with a poker face, following a corrupt politician around with nothing to show for it. 

Ken's next words made him, if anything, even more irritable. "Get some sleep, Aya. You look terrible." 

He scowled. "Yohji and Omi –" 

"I can handle them just fine. I know everything you do. And besides, next week we're going on that trip to wherever the hell Morrissey the paranoiac wants to spend a couple of days. We just need to brief them on location." He pushed Aya towards the door. 

"But –" Aya dug in his heels. 

Omi and Yohji were supposed to sneak into Ken's apartment, since at the moment it wasn't kept under as tight of surveillance as Aya's. Morrissey, paranoid as he was, had all of his staff watched. By each other. As luck would have it, it was Aya's turn to keep tabs on Ken. Still, the possibility that someone was watching Aya watch Ken couldn't be discounted, and Yohji and Omi would be arriving clandestinely. 

"Look, Aya, if you want to stick around, go ahead, but at least sit down." Ken abandoned his efforts to induce Aya to leave and shut the window instead. Aya had gotten a more insane schedule than most of the rest of the staff; it seemed there was something about him Morrissey distrusted. Or maybe it was the other way around, and he wanted Aya's presence for when he felt most vulnerable. Besides, fussing over Aya made it easier for Ken to ignore his own frustration with the duration of the mission. 

Aya looked at him suspiciously. Ken groaned and ran his fingers through his already disordered hair. "You're getting as paranoid as Morrissey if you think I'm trying to pull something over on you," he said bluntly and pointed at the couch. "Sit down, Aya." 

A knock on the door forestalled any answer Aya might have given. Ken approached the door cautiously, claws out and arm hidden at his side. Aya took up a position behind the door, katana drawn. Ken peeked through the spyhole in the center of the door. He saw a young girl, blonde, cute, heavy makeup. What the hell…? From what he could tell, she was dressed like a cheap whore. He opened the door to tell her to go away, but she brushed in as soon as there was an opening. 

Aya nodded. "Close the door, Ken." He sheathed his katana. "Omi." 

Ken stared. "This is your disguise?" he asked incredulously, shoving the door shut with a hip. 

Omi blushed. "Two people couldn't go in Yohji's way, so I had to find some reason to come to your front door." He pulled the short skirt down slightly. 

"I don't even want to know how Yohji's getting in." Ken shook his head. 

A soft chuckle sounded from the other side of the room. Yohji stood leaning against the wall, characteristic sunglasses concealing his eyes. "Are you sure?" 

"Yohji!" Ken bounded across the floor and kissed the other man enthusiastically. Quite aside from the stress of the mission, he missed Yohji's company. It was a lot harder to fall asleep at night alone. Yohji returned the gesture with interest, pulling Ken tightly against him, hands wandering lower. 

A discreet cough caught their attention. Aya glared. Ken could clearly see the sentiment expressed – 'good thing I stayed'. He sighed. How the man managed to pack so much into a simple glare was beyond him. Omi had been wandering around the edges of the tiny apartment, examining minutia that he had seen before, politely giving his teammates a few minutes of privacy. At Aya's signal, however, he paced back to the center of the room, apparently completely oblivious to the odd picture he presented. Ken, however, kept eyeing him, and he caught Yohji giving Omi an almost embarrassed glance once or twice as well. 

Aya spent the next couple of hours giving the rundown on the current situation, and both groups compared notes. Security as seen from the inside was just as tough as it was seen from the outside, and at their current location, there wasn't any foreseeable way inside. Aya then brought up the proposed trip the next week, an out of the way cabin owned by Morrissey; he'd named it Bergstrom or something equally ridiculous. The pretension of the man was irritating. The amount of staff to be brought along was considerable, and from what he and Ken had been able to dig up the security systems were formidable as well, but far easier to break into than what they were currently dealing with. 

"Then it's settled." Yohji nodded. The three Weiss members not staying in the apartment left by their respective routes, leaving Ken to curl up and try to get some sleep in preparation for the next day. Mission plans for the next week were as set as they could be, this far in advance, and in order to avoid detection, the next meeting was cancelled. They'd see each other next when it was finally time to take Morrissey down. The bed seemed suddenly very cold and very lonely. 

* * *

Aya scanned the crowds around Morrissey. There was nothing particularly special about the day, except that it was the day before the planned trip out to Morrissey's private residence. The man had spent the day in his office, performing a routine that Aya was now more familiar with than he had ever wanted to be. Office, lunch, office, home. Not once had Aya seen evidence that the man needed the insanely high security on which he insisted. Neither had he seen any evidence of illicit activity, although their reports from Kritiker had indicated that Morrissey had been fairly inactive since he and Ken joined the staff. Perhaps that was coincidence. Probably not. 

"Van." Deep in his own thoughts, it took a moment for Aya to recognize the moniker under which he operated. 

"What," he grated. The shorter sentences he spoke, the less likely it was that his accent would be noticed. He was doing fairly well, although as a result both he and Ken had developed reputations as silent and cold. It was something he was used to, but the younger man found it a strain to stay so quiet. 

The speaker chuckled. "Good to see you're so concerned for my safety." 

Oops. That had been Morrissey speaking. Fortunately, the man thought he'd been slow to respond because he was focused on scanning the crowd. "Yes, sir," Aya replied, not taking his eyes off their surroundings. 

"Listen, Van, tomorrow there's a little trip planned." Aya blinked. Morrissey made certain that his staff familiarized themselves with any special circumstances requiring increased security well ahead of time; Aya already knew about the trip. 

"Yes, sir?" Best to sound neutral, until he was certain what Morrissey wanted. 

"I want you and Winner in the car with me." Aya suppressed a twitch at Ken's assumed name. Whoever had assigned them codenames had no sense of style. "Once we arrive at Bergstrom, you're in charge of my personal security." 

Adrenaline rushed into Aya's veins. That would certainly make it much easier to carry out their mission. He carefully schooled his expression, remaining calm and collected. "There must be others with greater seniority, sir." Not too eager. 

"Ah, but you, Van, you have the instinct of an assassin." Morrissey's voice was warm as he said this, and full of what almost sounded like pride. 

Aya kept himself from whipping around and staring at the man in shock with the greatest of efforts. Keeping his voice level, he answered. "I'm not certain what you mean by that, sir." 

Morrissey chuckled. "I've seen the way you assess a space before entering it. I know a set of good instincts when I see one. I want you in charge, despite your lack of seniority." He started towards the car. Aya stood frozen for a moment before following as he had done countless times before. "I had your background thoroughly checked, you know," Morrissey said as they reached the car. "I've had assassins try to pose as bodyguards before." He smiled warmly. "I'll see you for your duty shift tomorrow, Van." 

And Aya was left wondering if he'd just been delivered a death sentence or an opportunity to finally complete his mission and go back to Japan. 

After his shift for that day had ended, Aya didn't say more than a few words to Ken – _he might know_ – and resolutely did not contact Omi or Yohji at all. The look Ken gave him was utterly horrified, but Aya didn't give him a chance to respond, trusting the younger assassin not to do anything foolish without instructions from higher up. Ken nodded, even though Aya was walking past him already, and walked off to start his duty shift. 

Aya spent the evening first cleaning his apartment – and thereby removing any traces of equipment that might have even the slightest chance of giving him away – and repacking his clothing for the trip. His cell phone rang shortly after ten, and he looked at the number displayed on the caller ID with suspicion. He didn't recognize it, and surely neither Omi nor Yohji would do something so stupid as to contact him. They'd have no reason to, unless Ken had… He answered abruptly, realizing he had let it ring too long. "Hello." 

A jovial, drawling voice answered him. "Abby, darling." It was Yohji, and the tone of voice he was using dripped sex and conquest, as if he were trying to seduce whoever heard it. 

"I think you have the wrong number," Aya said curtly. Damn Yohji. He had referred to Aya's codename. Ken _had_ spoken to one of the others. Aya was going to kill him when he got his hands on him. 

"This isn't the residence of Abby Kitt?" The edge in Yohji's voice vanished, replaced by an air of abashment. "And I thought we'd end up on a date tomorrow. Sorry about that, man." 

"Perhaps you misdialed. I'm sure she's still interested." Aya projected disinterest and irritation to the best of his ability, and hoped that Yohji got the message. 

"Thanks! Sorry again!" Yohji sounded cheeky and confident now. The line clicked and went silent. Aya cursed internally, replacing the cell phone in his jacket. The mission was still on, of course; Yohji, and presumably Omi, were now assured of that. 

* * *

Ken rode a motorcycle, scouting traffic. It wasn't his bike, and he sorely missed the custom adjustments he'd made on his own machine. The American vehicle was clumsy and heavy in comparison. Not to mention loud. He wrinkled his nose beneath his helmet. Yohji and Omi were tailing them discreetly, although he'd never know they were there unless he was specifically looking for them. This was one place in which Yohji's past as a PI had been particularly useful; it wasn't easy to stake someone out and watch them for an extended period of time without arousing suspicion, and the former investigator's skills were most welcome. 

Ken himself was tailing Morrissey in as discreet a fashion as possible, although he was under instructions to do so. Aya, in charge of Morrissey's security had detailed this particular job to him and another man. Apparently, he wanted Ken out of the way should Morrissey try something en route to Bergstrom. Morrissey had quirked an eyebrow at that particular assignment, but said nothing. Aya himself had looked slightly pale that morning before the trip, although only by virtue of his long association with the man had Ken been able to notice the difference. 

Bergstrom was quite a ways outside the city; it was barely within driving distance, in Ken's opinion. Once they arrived, they would be able to formulate a plan. And end this damned mission, and go home, where he could speak Japanese, and _see_ his lover… Ken shook his head. His relationship with Yohji had grown out of mutual attraction, more of a devil-may-care attitude than anything else. After all, it wasn't as if any of them expected to live long, involved with Kritiker as they were, and having Yohji meant that he didn't have to _pretend_ with his lover. About anything. It was a remarkably refreshing feeling. 

Slightly disturbing were the feelings he'd had during this mission, though. He'd begun to miss Yohji, far more than he could explain. It wasn't the same as what he felt for Omi, or even Aya, for that matter. Nor was it lack of sex. He'd slept with both Omi and Aya on previous occasions, after a particularly tense mission, or one more brush with death. It was a way of reaffirming life. But now… separation from both Omi and Aya – for he had been informed that he was not to indicate a previous association with the swordsman – just _felt_ different than separation from Yohji. Ken frowned slightly. He wasn't developing feelings for Yohji, was he? Beyond what he felt for all the members of Weiss, anyway. He shook his head. Mission first. 

He saw the car with Omi and Yohji turn down a side street, the rearview mirror flashing. Yohji waved his hand in a friendly little share the road sign to the driver who had let him through, and Ken could see him smiling. A little twinge ran through him at the sight. He was going to have to talk to Yohji after this mission was over. 

* * *

Yohji hummed as he drove, taking the most circuitous route possible to arrive at Bergstrom. Omi sat more or less quietly in the front seat, laptop open and data scrolling across the screen. He had a cigarette between two fingers, but a pained look from Omi had been enough to stop him from actually lighting it. He played with the slender cylinder instead, slowly shredding the paper. 

Bergstrom itself, when they finally arrived – having ditched the car some time back – was a rather formidable place, set inside a heavily wooded area. Or rather, the land containing Bergstrom was heavily wooded, and set with perimeter cameras. From the diagrams they had obtained, the space directly around the building was clear. No using vegetation for cover. He and Omi made sure to stay out of the range of the cameras, Omi still tapping on the laptop. Yohji lit his mutilated cigarette and settled down to wait. 

Omi barely glanced up, working his way into the computer systems, or something. Yohji wasn't entirely certain. He had no idea what it was that Omi did on that machine, for the most part, and tended to leave it alone. 

"I'm in," Omi said suddenly. And that was all he said for the next fifteen minutes or so. Yohji peered over his shoulder in between pulling on his assassin-wear trenchcoat and lighting another cigarette. "You shouldn't do that, Yohji-kun, it's bad for your health," Omi said absently, eyes glued to a progress bar slowly filling up with blue. 

Yohji shrugged and took another drag. "Can't have everything, bishounen." He glanced around, checked his watch to make sure the wires were in place. He'd checked it before they left the city, and during the drive at least twice. It was a reassuring habit. He drew out a short length of the glittering thread and reeled it back in. Beautiful. 

"Aya and Ken are inside, and Aya just sent me the schedule. We should be able to go in tonight." Omi smiled brilliantly. Yohji crouched down and looked at the laptop screen, nodding as Omi pointed out the relevant pieces of data and outlined the infiltration plan. Yohji smiled tightly, and pushed his sunglasses up. As far as he was concerned, the time to attack couldn't come fast enough. 

The sun went down, and with it the temperature. Omi insisted on wearing the shorts anyway, despite the snow on the ground and the rising wind. Yohji glared him into at least zipping his jackets shut. Kid was gonna catch cold if he wasn't careful. And if Omi caught cold, Ken would chew Yohji out for not being more careful. It was therefore in Yohji's best interest to keep Omi from catching cold. He ruffled Omi's hair before wandering off a few steps to light another cigarette. 

"Yohji!" Omi said without looking up. 

Yohji made a face and obediently put the pack away. "Loosen up, Omittchi," he said lightly. 

"When this mission is over," Omi said fervently. "We've got a couple of hours yet." He rubbed at his arms. "It's cold out here." 

Yohji wrapped his arms around the younger boy from behind. "Better?" 

Omi sighed and leaned against him. "Much. Thanks." He moved his fingers, and Yohji heard the laptop keys clicking. 

"Now what are you doing?" he asked idly, out of boredom more than anything else. 

"Storing some footage and rerouting some of the security feeds. Or, planning to reroute them, anyway. Once we're ready to make our move, I can switch the feeds so that we won't be seen breaking in. I don't want to just disable the cameras or they'll know something's up, and there are a LOT of people in there." 

Yohji nodded, even though Omi couldn't see the motion. "Can we see what's going on inside?" 

Omi shook his head. "Too risky. I don't want to be detected. Chances are that I won't be noticed from out here, but I don't want trip any alarms." 

"Gotcha." Yohji sighed and settled down to wait, wrapped around Omi to provide heat, and eyes searching the steadily growing darkness around them. 

* * *

Ken pulled on his glove and tested the bugnuks, shooting them out and retracting them just to make sure they weren't sticky or anything. The orange sweater was tied securely around his waist, the goggles pushing his hair out of his eyes. He paced back and forth, antsy, waiting for the signal from Aya. The ventilation shafts were easily large enough to accommodate a human figure, and were _not_ rigged with alarms. Aya had made damn certain of that, and Omi had backed him up, apparently. He glanced at the grate in his ceiling, and stared at the map of the vents again. He was fairly certain he had them pretty well figured out; there was a pattern to every system, and the trick was just finding it. 

He tapped his comm again, making sure it was functional. Midway through his eighteenth counterclockwise circuit of his room, he got a signal. Aya. 

"Move." That was it. He grinned. Time to go. Slipping through the halls undetected was relatively easy, despite the orange sweater and jeans. He knew these men, after all, knew their quirks and habits after working alongside them for two months. He wondered briefly if it would make them harder to kill, and then put aside the thought as irrelevant. He saw Abyssinian duck around a corner, and jogged up to join him. "Yohji and Omi are on their way," Abyssinian said quietly. "The target is two floors up, and we meet them there." 

They took out the first of the guards a few seconds later; ironically, not even one of the guards on duty. Shortly after that, the second batch nearly ran over them before registering the presence of the two assassins. 

"Hey, Winner! What's going on?" one of them called out jovially. He was a man who had made an effort to incorporate the "newbies" into a social life. Ken had responded a little more than Aya, which apparently gave this man hope. Siberian buried his bugnuks in the man's lung, noticing in a detached sort of way the expression of surprise he wore. Abyssinian's katana flashed once, twice, and Siberian spun around and caught the last of the four men in the group. The bodies crumpled to the floor and Siberian tore his claws free of the last guard's jacket with a ripping sound. They exchanged glances and ran for the elevator. Gunfire sounded from above them. _Not on this floor_ Siberian noted, as yet another guard choked on his own blood and then he was in the elevator, punching the button for the target's floor and crawling up to the top of the metal box. 

Abyssinian crouched beside him, peering through the crack in the elevator ceiling. The elevator doors opened, and bullets spattered the inside. Siberian shook his head. He and Abyssinian moved into the crawl space, making their way above the ceilings to drop down behind the gun-wielding guards and tearing them apart. Siberian picked up one of the handguns – it had only been fired once – and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans before darting after Abyssinian. He offered a second gun to Abyssinian, but Abyssinian shook his head. Siberian shrugged and stowed it in his jacket. 

Balinese and Bombay were pinned down by more of the target's bodyguards a few meters down, but just as Abyssinian reached them, Bombay's darts and Balinese's wire did their job, and the barricade dissolved. "The alarm's been tripped," Bombay noted. "We'll probably be facing more obstacles within a few minutes." 

"The target should be in there, right?" Abyssinian gestured. 

Balinese nodded, eyes cold and shuttered over the tops of his customary shades. 

The target was shouting into his telephone when Siberian simply shouldered the door down, using velocity and force and the right weak points to knock it off its hinges. He looked up, surprised. A look of understanding hushed across his face as he pulled a gun out of a shoulder holster and fired twice at Abyssinian. He had quick reflexes, Siberian noted, but Abyssinian was faster. A thunk told Siberian the bullet had hit some target, but he was springing up from his crouching position on the floor and raked his bugnuks across the target's throat as Abyssinian's katana found the target's heart. The target slumped over his desk, blood pooling impossibly fast. 

"Bombay's been hit," Balinese said. Bombay must be incapacitated, then, Siberian reasoned. Balinese wouldn't have said anything otherwise. "The secondary mission is aborted." He was speaking of the data record of Abyssinian's and Siberian's employment; while nothing was traceable to either Kritiker or Japan, photographs could be used as identification. 

"Negative," Abyssinian replied. "Balinese, get him out of here. Wait by the contact point. Siberian will create a distraction and I will carry out the secondary objective." He turned to Siberian. "Give your weapon to Balinese." His eyes flicked to the gun in Siberian's waistband. Siberian did as commanded for two reasons; Balinese couldn't use his wires effectively while carrying Bombay, and he stood less of a chance of getting caught than either Abyssinian or Siberian. There could be nothing linking them to Kritiker. 

With Bombay out of commission, Abyssinian was in command. Balinese's mouth tightened, but he nodded and slung Bombay over his shoulder with ease, vanishing down the corridor. Siberian noted that the damage to Bombay appeared relatively light and would be repairable with timely treatment. He glanced at Abyssinian. "Generator." 

The fuel in the generator could be used to start an impressive fire. Trouble was, the fuel was stored in the basement and they were on the fifth floor. He corrected himself. Challenge, not trouble. And Weiss had a habit of being damned hard on challenges. Abyssinian nodded and they split up. 

Siberian had reached the first floor with relatively little incident by crawling through the ventilation shafts when the comm sounded. "Balinese. I've gotten Bombay out and to safety. But I thought you'd like to know – there are several cars with official markings on them responding to the alarm. I'm coming back in." 

"Negative." Abyssinian's voice was forceful. "Stay with Bombay. We'll be out in a few minutes at most." 

By now, Siberian had reached the basement, and it was empty. He held the gun in a practiced two-handed grip and eased the safety back. Generator fuel, check. He fired. Hole in container, check. He tossed a match into the puddle; Yohji had left them in the jacket untold ages past, and he hadn't bothered to remove them. Fire, check. He slipped out of the basement, looking left and right. 

Voices sounded, shouting the name of some American government agency and telling him to freeze. The smoke was spreading, and he ducked down the corridor, away from the gunfire. The front door was blocked. Presumably, the entire first floor was covered. He tried to climb back into the ventilation shaft, but that exposed the only serious flaw in his plans. As the ventilation shafts dispersed the smoke throughout the building, making for more confusion, they became impossible to traverse. Siberian cursed, and ducked into a stairwell. He'd have to go up that way. An explosion rocked the foundation of the building, nearly knocking him off his feet. The sound of footsteps above him as he was regaining his balance sent him underneath the stairwell, gun trained on the intruder. Leather boots graced by silver buckles came into view. 

"Abyssinian." He stepped out. 

"Siberian." Abyssinian's katana was sheathed, and he held a handgun similar to Siberian's. An errant thought skittered through Siberian's mind. _Oh, sure, _now_ he has a gun._

"First floor is blocked. Ventilation shafts are full of smoke." 

Abyssinian nodded. "Up." The two of them started upwards. Yet another explosion sounded, and the building shuddered again. Smoke began to hang more heavily in the air, dragging across Siberian's throat. He coughed, once. Abyssinian threw back a concerned look. "Are you all right?" 

"Fine." He dragged a hand across his watering eyes as they ducked out of the stairwell and nearly into a hail of gunfire. The fire was spreading through the walls now, and the temperature was rising. Sirens wailed in the distance, coming steadily closer. He sighted and fired, running behind Abyssinian, watching their backs while Abyssinian tried to find an escape route. They were forced steadily upwards, barely one step ahead of their pursuers, until Abyssinian kicked the door to the rooftop open and they found flames dancing to greet them. Siberian cursed succinctly, and coughed again. The Americans were still following them, the persistent bastards. He glanced behind them, sighted, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He fumbled for another clip, but he had exhausted all of the ammunition he had acquired. 

The heat distorted his vision, sending shimmering waves across his field of view. He rubbed his eyes again, barely registering the sound of Abyssinian's voice. Smoke. He dropped down, lower, finding the air marginally clearer, half-pulled by Abyssinian away from the spreading fire, towards the edge of the roof. He couldn't breathe, and sparks danced in front of his eyes. He could feel the rooftop digging into his shoulder, and make out Abyssinian, on his knees, coughing. The last thing he saw was the Americans, smoke masks obscuring their faces, running across the cracked gravel. _Bastards_, he thought, and passed out. 

* * *

Balinese turned his attention to Bombay after informing his teammates of their clean escape and the denial of permission to return and help the two of them. Bombay was unconscious at the moment. He'd had the sheer bad luck to have been hit both times the target had fired. The first bullet had buried itself in a shoulder, narrowly missing a lung. Or so Balinese surmised, since Bombay wasn't coughing up blood, and the wound itself wasn't yielding bubbles. Balinese had the bleeding pretty well stopped by now, but Bombay would need more expert attention soon. The second had grazed his temple, as he'd twisted out of the way just in time. He'd collapsed, unconscious, and still hadn't come to. That worried Balinese, though the damage appeared mainly superficial. A more in-depth examination revealed the faint beginnings of some extensive bruising around the path of the second bullet; as if Bombay had been hit with a blunt object. He nodded. Concussion. That explained it. He checked his watch. Aside from keeping Bombay warm – and the boy was already wrapped in the clothing they had left at the checkpoint from their vigil earlier in the evening – there wasn't much he could do. 

He peered between the trees. He couldn't see the building from this far away, but he could smell the smoke. It was getting stronger, unless that was just his imagination. He tapped the comm. "Balinese to Abyssinian. Status?" 

Static answered him. That wasn't a particularly good sign. He tried again. "Balinese to Siberian. Status?" 

Again, static. He tapped it once or twice. "Abyssinian? Siberian? Can you hear me?" Still nothing. That probably meant very very bad things. Half of him was screaming to go back and rescue Ken, and the other half was just as inexorably pulling him back. Bombay was injured, and it was damned _cold_ with the snow on the ground – Balinese froze. _Snow_. Despite the physical sensation of pain at the thought of leaving Ken – and Abyssinian, he reminded himself – in the hands of the target's allies, getting himself and Bombay captured would do no good. He lifted Bombay and started off at a jog towards the car. He'd gotten three steps when he remembered Bombay's computer and had to go back for it. It held classified information. He was in the process of slinging it over his back when he heard the sounds of voices and footsteps. He cursed under his breath, tossed Bombay over his shoulder and ran. Silently, of course. 

The car was offroad, hidden from casual passersby. There were no tracks outside it save his own and Bombay's, and the area surrounding it appeared clean at first glance. Balinese nodded imperceptibly and tossed Bombay into the passenger seat, dumping the laptop in the back before sliding into the driver's seat and pulling out onto the paved road. The roads weren't cordoned off, yet, and by driving at a fairly normal speed he managed to escape notice. He shivered slightly in the car, and pulled Bombay closer to himself in an effort to keep the boy warm. The bleeding had started again. Yohji frowned and put pressure on it, as best he could with one hand. Bombay really needed proper medical attention. 

Yohji tapped fingers on the steering wheel as he drove back towards the city. He had the money to pay for a doctor; Kritiker had issued them both credit cards, since they had had no idea how long it would take to complete the mission, and it wasn't bloody likely that either of their assumed names would be associated with the eventual death of the target. No, Yohji was more worried about the questions the doctors would ask. 

In the end, it was an academic question. His comm beeped as soon as he got within a few kilometers of the city. For a brief second filled with horror and relief, he thought it was either Ken or Aya. He was disappointed; it was Manx. She had an address to which he was supposed to bring Omi; a private airfield a few miles away. Yohji shook his head. Damn if she hadn't both brought in medical specialists from Kritiker and provided transport back to Japan. Looked like she had the hospital equipment on the jet itself, so they could take off the second Weiss got on board. He frowned. He wasn't going back until they got Ken and Aya out. 

* * *

Omi woke to warmth, dulled pain, and the sound of voices raised in anger several feet away. It hurt. He tried to raise his left hand to ward off the light in his eyes, and discovered he couldn't move it. He nearly smiled, but it was too much effort. He was drugged, then. His mind felt blurred and he couldn't think straight. The voices partially roused him from the half-daze he'd fallen back into. 

"Yo- Balinese?" He thought one of the shouting voices was Yohji, but he wasn't sure. 

"Hey, Omittchi." Yohji's lanky form came to stand between him and the light, and he could open his eyes more fully. "How are you feeling?" 

"Fine," he replied before thinking. With surprise, he realized that he actually didn't feel as bad as he had expected. "What happened to the target?" 

"Ken and Aya got him." Omi couldn't see Yohji's face that well, since the light was directly behind him. It gave the tall assassin a sort of halo. Quite pretty, actually. Omi dragged his thoughts back to the subject at hand. 

"The secondary mission?" He felt as if he were looking through clear water; his thoughts lucid but somehow… not. 

"Presumed accomplished. The building was totally destroyed, and there were reports of a virus in the rest of the computers linked to Morrissey's." 

One of them must have uploaded it through a network link, Omi concluded. A word Yohji had chosen leapt out at him. "Presumed? Where are Ken and Aya?" 

Yohji hesitated. Omi glared, although he wasn't sure the glare would be effective from his current prone position. Smoothing his wavy hair in a nervous gesture, Yohji sighed. "They didn't make it back to the checkout point." 

Omi's initial reaction was to blame Balinese for leaving Siberian and Abyssinian behind. Logic reasserted itself before he had a chance to say something he'd regret later, though, and he nodded slowly. "What's the status on the rescue operation?" 

The click of heels signaled the arrival of a third party, and Manx's sharp face came into view. "Balinese, let him alone. He needs his rest." 

Omi struggled to sit up. He was tired, and slightly dizzy, and freezing cold, all of which conspired against him. Yohji gently pushed him back down. "I'll talk to you later, Omittchi." He glanced at Manx, as if daring her to challenge him. "Doc says you don't have a concussion, so try and get some sleep." He ruffled Omi's hair on one side affectionately. 

Omi fell asleep with Manx watching him, an expression of almost regret on her face, as if she were trying to hide it and not quite succeeding. 

* * *

Yohji frowned at the empty coffee pot, as if the hapless object were to blame for no longer containing the caffeine-laden beverage he was currently seeking. He was tired now that the adrenaline had faded, and the anger he felt at Manx's insistence upon immediate departure was no longer quite enough to sustain him. 

"Your mug is still full, Yohji," Manx's voice startled him. "It's on the shelf over there." She pointed to the brightly cheerful mug sitting innocently not two feet away. The shelf in question was behind the coffee maker in the back of the plane, possibly explaining why he hadn't noticed it before. 

"Thanks," Yohji muttered, and took a sip of the bitter liquid. It tasted off. "I'm not going back until we get Ken and Aya," he reiterated, making a face. 

"Kudo, you know the rules. There's nothing we can do for them." While Manx didn't exactly sound unsympathetic, she was implacable. 

"Then let me try to get them out. Not Kritiker. Just me." He frowned. Irrelevant as it was, he concluded that this was the worst mug of coffee he'd ever tasted. 

"You're in no condition, Balinese. In case you hadn't noticed, you were injured as well." Manx guided him to one of the seats in the back of the small plane. 

As she said the words, previously ignored sources of pain flared up with a vengeance, and then muted down. "I'm fine," he muttered, allowing her to push him downwards. He had to get her to listen. 

"Balinese, you don't even know who has them." Manx put her hands on her hips. 

Yohji tightened his fingers around the comforting warmth of the mug in his hands and took another sip. "Yes, I do. The building was surrounded by cars saying "CIA". There were no other vehicles representing any other government agency, therefore…." He trailed off, losing his train of thought. "Therefore…" The mug slipped out of his suddenly lax fingers. 

Manx caught it in an astounding display of reflex and handed it to someone outside his field of vision. "Sorry, Balinese. But we're going back to Tokyo." He felt her fasten the seatbelt around him, and arrange his hands in his lap. She smoothed the hair out of his face in an almost tender gesture. "As soon as we're in the air, we'll take care of your injuries." He glared, mutely, unable to move, even the anger receding under the wave of calm relaxation washing over him. The bitch had _drugged_ his coffee. His eyes slid shut under the combined influence of exhaustion and sedatives, and Yohji slept.

_End Part One_


	3. Part Two: Rescue

Many thanks to those who reviewed.  ^.^  Your comments are always most welcome.  Please enjoy this next bit of fic.  

* * *

_Part Two: Rescue_

Abyssinian paced the dimensions of the concrete and steel room exactly once, to get a feel for its size. Siberian was still out cold, sprawled on the floor where they had left him. Abyssinian himself had only been awake for a few minutes, but he had already heard several irregularities in Siberian's breathing. Not good. He took stock of his surroundings; the gray walls, the barred window. Not that he could have seen out of the window in any case; the tiny panes of glass were opaque. The silently intrusive camera lens in the corner gleamed brightly, but there was no one visible in the short hallway, and the sounds of the ventilation were too loud for him to hear the telltale signs of human presence. 

A small noise from the center of the room caught his attention, and he turned to see Siberian beginning to awaken. He knelt down next to his teammate. "Siberian." 

Siberian's eyes opened, but did not focus. He blinked as though he were having trouble maintaining consciousness. "A-aya?" The word incited a spate of coughing, and Siberian doubled over, apparently trying to regain control of his breathing. 

"Siberian." Abyssinian put an arm around his teammate's shoulders, helping him into a sitting position. "How do you feel?" 

"Um…." Siberian hesitated. "Not great." He rubbed his eyes, and they appeared to focus, finally. "Kinda dizzy. Hurts to breathe." 

"Just sit still, then. What's the last thing you remember?" Abyssinian let his arm remain where it was; he had the feeling that without its support, Siberian just might fall over again. 

"Mission." Siberian looked as though he was going to say something else, and then stopped himself. Abyssinian didn't know if he'd noticed the camera, or just if he had realized that this was probably hostile territory. "The building caught fire. Smoke." He took another ragged breath, and started coughing again. It didn't last as long the second time. Maybe that was a good sign. "Where are we?" 

Abyssinian shook his head. "I don't know." He resisted looking at the lens; it was very well camouflaged, and whoever had put it there probably thought they wouldn't see it. 

"How did we get here?" Siberian looked a little steadier now, blood circulating more freely, breathing less harsh. 

"I don't know." He pulled away from Siberian. "Can you stand?" 

"Don't know much do you, Ay- Abyssinian," Siberian joked, taking the outstretched hand and using Abyssinian to lever himself to his feet. He stumbled before catching his balance. "How long have you been awake?" 

"Not long." Abyssinian made a sweeping glance of the cell, releasing Siberian's hand as his eyes raked over the lens. Siberian, who was fortunately not facing the camera, mouthed 'camera' with an inquiring expression. "You all right?" he asked, eyes flickering over Abyssinian's body with a practiced glance. 

Abyssinian resisted the urge to glare. There could have been more than one camera. He nodded and pushed Siberian over to the shelf that might possibly have been meant to sleep on. "Fine. Sit down." 

"I told you I was all right," Siberian protested, but he let himself be led. 

"Very touching," a voice commented in accented Japanese, and Abyssinian nearly winced as he realized what language he and Siberian had been speaking. From the expression on his face, Siberian was thinking the same thing. 

"Where are we?" Abyssinian asked flatly in English. The man standing out of reach of the bars wore a crisp dark suit, and everything about his appearance spoke of over-meticulous attention to detail. It was belied by the smirk hovering about his lips, though, a careless expression. 

"Montana," the man replied. "Not that it matters to a terrorist like yourself. I would like to know how you got inside Morrissey's private residence, though. He was more paranoid than the rest of us put together." 

"Who are you?" Abyssinian ignored the man's statement; it wasn't a question, and even if it had been, he still wouldn't have answered it. For the man to be asking it meant either that they didn't know how Weiss had gotten inside Morrissey's supposed safe place, or they weren't sure and wanted him to give it away. He wasn't going to do either one. 

"That has nothing to do with you." The man smiled again, and it left an unpleasant impression lingering. Not that Abyssinian showed any reaction, of course. And Siberian's eyes were closed, the younger man slumped forward; he wasn't showing any response to the man either. "Oh, he's fine," the man said off-handedly, correctly interpreting the glance Abyssinian had sent towards Siberian. "He suffered some minor damage due to the smoke, but we think he'll recover without any problems." 

"Who's 'we'?" Abyssinian asked, folding his arms across his chest. It was at that point that he noticed the lack of his heavy trenchcoat, although the rest of his clothing felt intact. 

"Please come with me – Abyssinian, did he call you?" Abyssinian saw two more men behind the first, both of whom moved with a fluid grace. Trained in some form of combat, then. Abyssinian moved towards them slowly, giving every sign of cooperation. As soon as he got within striking distance, he dropped his eyes and stood still. The man smiled. "Good. I see you understand that it is futile to resist." He unlocked the doors and motioned Abyssinian out. A purely mental smile formed in Abyssinian's thoughts. Resistance, indeed. Weiss would not be subdued so easily. 

The two bodyguards stepped closer, flanking Abyssinian. He tracked their movements, observing their positions until he was satisfied. He felt rather than heard the change in Siberian's breathing, how it quickened in preparation. Without any warning at all, Abyssinian attacked. 

The highest level of threat came from the nameless, smirking man standing with an expression of shock and dismay on his sharp features. Had he really believed they would go quietly? Abyssinian felt a moment of quiet contempt as he lashed out with his heel and caught the man on the left side of the jaw. He put enough force behind it to nearly break the man's neck; at the very least, he should have been on the floor with a fractured jaw. The man's head snapped to the side, and he staggered but did not fall. Abyssinian, familiar already with those who continued functioning even after considerable damage, gave the man no chance for recovery, following with a blow to the throat and to the solar plexus. As the man doubled over, Abyssinian brought his hand down on the back of the man's neck, and watched as the man started to collapse. Abyssinian shoved the man into the cell, the momentum carrying the limp form nearly to a corner before he slid down the wall. Abyssinian smiled and turned to see how Siberian was doing. 

One of the bodyguards was already prone and immobile, but the other had Siberian in a chokehold, and Siberian's movements were beginning to slow. Abyssinian started toward his teammate, and the guard threw Siberian towards him. Abyssinian wasn't expecting _that_, and they both went down. Abyssinian's outflung hand landed on something smooth and metallic, and he knew it was the first guard's handgun. As Siberian struggled to free himself and stand to face the guard, Abyssinian pulled the prone man's weapon out of its holster. The standing guard went for his own gun, obviously planning to shoot at Abyssinian before he could manage to complete the draw from an unfamiliar and awkward position. 

The guard was trained in the use of firearms as well as unarmed combat, was on his feet, and was using his own gun. Abyssinian was on the ground, at a disadvantage, and not familiar with the use of a handgun. A sharp report sounded, followed by the muffled thud of a body hitting the ground. 

Siberian turned incredulous eyes on his teammate. "You _threw_ it at him?" Abyssinian shrugged and climbed to his feet, tugging Siberian along with him. He picked up the handgun from where it had clattered on the concrete floor, tucking it behind his belt. Siberian shook his head. "Let's get out of here." 

They took the corridor at a dead run, knowing that they had no idea where they were, or the layout of the building. The window in the cell at least indicated that they were above ground; beyond that they knew nothing. Abyssinian motioned to the air vents at the end of the corridor with one hand, and they scrambled up and inside just in time to avoid a trio of what were presumably armed guards, possibly sent to deal with their escape. After the men were out of hearing distance, they started moving. The vents were barely large enough to accommodate their frames; had either of them possessed more mass, the vents would have been an unviable escape route. Abyssinian permitted himself a small smirk. Stupid Americans. 

Abyssinian's escape plan hinged on the fact that the vents would lead to the roof, and from that point, they could survey their surroundings and hopefully escape. It took much less time and effort than he expected to reach the roof; synchronicity appeared to be working for them for once. The daylight filtering down was bright and welcoming, and he used it to search the gravel expanse for any sign of human presence through the grate. Finding none, he kicked it off and pulled himself outwards, then turned and hauled Siberian through. Siberian leaned against him gratefully, gulping air. Abyssinian frowned. "When we get back, you're taking some time off," he said quietly in Japanese. 

Siberian glared at him, and opened his mouth in what was probably a protest. It never came. What he did say, in English, was "Fuck." 

"What?" Abyssinian turned around to follow Siberian's gaze. He caught a blurred impression of a suit and a hand before an impact sent him rocketing into oblivion. Just before he completely lost consciousness, he heard Siberian swearing and a second impact sounded. The last thing he registered was Siberian's weight sprawled across his chest. 

* * *

The first thing Abyssinian felt as he awoke was irritation. What was wrong with these Americans, that they couldn't just try to restrain him or something? Constant involuntary unconsciousness played hell with the senses. The second thing he felt was nausea. He groaned. 

"Abyssinian?" That was Siberian's voice. 

Abyssinian opened his eyes and wished he hadn't. The light was too bright and the shadows too dark. His nausea increased, and he squeezed his eyes shut again. It wasn't enough. He brought a hand over his mouth, trying to quell the feeling. 

Siberian correctly interpreted the gesture and hauled him upright and a short distance across the floor. Abyssinian barely managed to make a sound of protest before he lost complete control and heaved the entire contents of his stomach… somewhere. Dimly, he felt Siberian supporting him and rubbing his back soothingly. Once finished, he leaned against Siberian, eyes still closed. 

"Come on, Aya, open your eyes. You're fine." 

"Of course I am, and don't call me that," Abyssinian snapped. He did feel better, though. "Where are we?" 

"Same place we were before." Siberian shrugged. "I think." 

Looking around, Abyssinian saw the same room he had seen the last time, or one so similar it made no difference. In passing, he noticed that Siberian had made sure he had thrown up in the head in the corner, rather than all over the floor, and nodded once at his younger teammate. "Did you see who was on the roof?" he asked quietly. 

Siberian shook his head. "I thought it was the same ones that were in here." 

"They looked surprised. I don't think they were expecting us up there." Abyssinian stood cautiously, and put a hand to his forehead. He winced slightly as he encountered what had to be a nasty bruise. 

"That has got to be the worst luck ever," Siberian replied after a moment. 

"Hn." Abyssinian stood cautiously. A little residual dizziness, probably no concussion. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. 

The man with the smirk was back, accompanied once again by bodyguards. "You're to be turned over to another branch." The words were accompanied by a sour twist to his mouth, as if the words themselves were unpalatable. Abyssinian deduced that the man was not happy about the transfer. "If you try to escape again, we will cripple you. Should you attempt a third time, we will kill one of you. Cooperation is in your best interest." 

Siberian glanced once at Abyssinian and nodded slowly. Abyssinian followed suit, and the man unlocked the gate to the cell and slid it aside. Abyssinian didn't know why, but the man wasn't ordering restraints to be put on either one of them. It would have made sense to do so, given that they had caused so much trouble the last time. He flicked his eyes back and forth, looking for the weak point in the human barricade around them. The way the men moved said that they hadn't been trained as well as he and Siberian had; they could probably take all six of them, plus the man with the smirk. Unless the guards got their guns out, and crippled one or both of them. And that would end any hope they had of escape. Abyssinian walked quietly, alert and cooperating. For now. 

The security cameras in the corners tracked their movements, red lights unblinking. Abyssinian smiled. Bombay would be able to hack security, if he was given permission from Kritiker. His smile vanished. That was the first he had thought of rescue. He knew perfectly well there would be no rescue. Kritiker and its work were too important to risk for a couple of agents clumsy enough to get themselves caught. He and Siberian were on their own. 

* * *

"I refuse to accept that." Omi glared at Birman, eyes narrowed and cold. "You can't just _leave_ them there!" 

"We can and we will. They know the risks of this job as well as you do, Bombay." She looked back at him, face composed and emotionless. "You'll be assigned new members within a few months. Until then, Weiss is temporarily deactivated." 

"That's ridiculous." Yohji stood from where he had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "We're not going to abandon them." 

"Balinese, Bombay…" For the first time during their confrontation, Birman showed some sign of emotion. She looked tired. "Kritiker absolutely cannot do anything to alter the situation with Abyssinian and Siberian. Of course, if, during Weiss' period of temporary deactivation, they were to take time to plan a trip to, say, Canada, Kritiker would be willing to provide the equipment necessary." 

Omi's eyes lit up, and he visibly restrained himself from breaking into a grin as he rattled off a list of equipment; computer equipment, weapons, stealth gear, other objects. Birman raised an eyebrow once or twice at some of the odder requests, but she nodded when Omi had finished speaking. "We'll see you tomorrow, Bombay." 

Once she left, Omi did smile. "We're going to get them out of there, Yohji." Yohji agreed whole-heartedly, and followed Omi over to the computer. Tactics and planning. Research and reconnaissance. It was usually Omi's territory, but this time Yohji apparently planned on being involved as possible. 

* * *

Ken glared at the wall as if he could stare it into submission. It would probably be easier to do that than to get out of here now that they were separated. He could have told Aya that it was a bad idea. But no, Mr. Angst had to let the suits drag them off to different cells. And the one he was in had no window, and just a slot in the door. The light in the room came from a fluorescent bulb covered by a thick plastic sheet in the ceiling. He sighed. At least his hands were free again. During the transfer to wherever he and Aya were now, they had been finally restrained and blindfolded. The camera in the corner was in plain view, which led him to believe that there was another one, or possibly more, hidden. He couldn't see them, and he didn't want to look like he was searching. He'd find them eventually. Probably. 

The only way in or out was through the door; that much was obvious. He settled down to wait, mind racing through escape scenarios. 

It might have been as much as several hours later or as little as a few minutes that the door swung open. A woman stood silhouetted in brighter light from the hallway. She smiled tightly. "Siberian." 

He stood up and turned to face her. 

"That is your code name, correct?" She gestured to somewhere to the left, and two men walked into the room. "Please be still." The men flanked Ken, one on each side. He looked back and forth. This was probably not good. The one on the left kneed him suddenly in the solar plexus as his attention was on the one at his right, and he doubled over, wheezing for air. The men caught his wrists and bound them together efficiently, and then did the same with his feet. The larger of the two swung him efficiently over his shoulder and they started walking. By the time Ken got his breath back, the man had hooked his wrists into a harness hanging from the ceiling of another room and fastened his feet to a ring in the floor. The woman smiled, and picked up a pair of sleek black gloves. She pulled them on, and before he could blink, hit him in the face. The impact rocked his head back and he saw stars. The pain was incredible. She grasped his hair and he was suddenly staring at her face again. 

"Who do you work for?" 

"Mr. Morrissey," he said automatically. She hit him again, just below the ribs. 

"Whom do you work for?" 

When he could breathe, he answered in as even tones as he could manage. "Mr. Morrissey." Kritiker had never prepared them for the possibility of torture, but Omi had once thought it was a possibility. Ken was resilient. He could bend and bend and not break. _Bend, don't break. Please._

He was barely conscious when he was dragged back to his cell. The only thing that had stopped the session was his apparent inability to speak. The woman had nodded as she removed her gloves. "You're tough." She had smiled then, and it made his blood run cold. But he hadn't answered her questions. 

* * *

Abyssinian paced. He'd been left alone in the pitch black of what he assumed was his cell for an indeterminate amount of time. He'd thoroughly explored the parameters of his confinement, and found a vent, a door, bare facilities. He'd also familiarized himself with the layout of the cell. If it came to a blind fight, he'd be ready. He wrinkled his nose at the odd scent in the air. It smelled vaguely wrong, like a room that had been left closed up for far too long. 

The sudden influx of light from the open door left him blinded, but he was ready. He leapt at the shadow in the doorway, striking to disable. The figure crumpled almost before he'd been hit, sliding to the floor. Abyssinian, not expecting _that_ reaction, stumbled. He fell right into waiting hands, restrained before he had the chance to make another move. 

The figure on the floor groaned, and Abyssinian registered Siberian's voice. He cursed inwardly. A female voice laughed. "Very nice, Abyssinian." Abyssinian narrowed his eyes, trying to filter out the glare. A woman stood just out of his reach, pale hair pulled severely back from her face. She was smiling. 

"Who are you?" he asked. 

"Oh, very good. Siberian didn't ask that question. In fact, he didn't ask any questions. I think he was too busy trying to breathe." She chuckled, low in the back of her throat. "He'll be fine, by the way. He won't even bruise." 

Siberian moaned again, pain threading the indistinct sound. 

Abyssinian glared. "Who are you?" 

"I think that I ask the questions, not you." She crossed her arms, and opened her mouth as if to continue speaking, but now Abyssinian could see. He dropped down, swung his left foot around in a sweep kick and knocked two guards off their feet. Using surprise to his advantage, he leapt up from a crouching position and went straight for the woman's throat. 

He didn't reach his target. Something came out of nowhere and slammed into his side, and he landed hard, temple striking the ground. He blinked, suddenly dizzy. The woman bent over him. She filled his field of vision, but he could feel his hands being tied. He couldn't quite move them anyway. The woman made a tsking sound. "Hit on the head twice. And in the same place. I'd be surprised if he doesn't have a concussion. Walker, check him for me." Her voice sounded like it was wavering in and out of hearing range. 

Light shone in his eyes. It hurt. Abyssinian struggled to get to his feet, and someone hauled him upright. He had to get out of here. He hung limp in whoever's grasp it was. 

"He should be fine, but I don't think he's going to be answering any questions." Had she called that one Walker? "Throw him in there with the other one. Neither of them are going to be in any condition to do much of anything." 

Anger fueled a slow burn in Abyssinian's chest, and it started to strip away the fog surrounding his mind. He was Weiss, dammit. He started to tense in preparation to attack again. Before he could break free, he felt himself tossed back into the cell. Siberian lay just inside the door, and he stumbled over his teammate. The door swung shut, leaving them in pitch dark again. 

"Siberian?" he whispered. No reply. He hadn't really expected one. It was cold. He pulled Siberian's warm body close to him, cradling Siberian against his chest. That was better, and warm. Siberian relaxed into him. Abyssinian stared into the blackness. 

* * *

"A-ya?" 

Abyssinian had no idea how much later it was when Siberian spoke. "Yes?" 

"Good…" The relief in Siberian's voice was nearly palpable. "Are you all right?" 

"Yes." 

"…we're never going to get out of here, are we?" The words were nearly too soft to hear. 

"Yes. We will." 

Siberian laughed shallowly. "You're usually right, Aya, but when you're wrong, it's way off the mark." 

Abyssinian wrinkled his brow. "What do you mean?" 

"Nothing. Nothing." Siberian shifted. "Ow." 

"Sib-" 

"You know what, Aya, I never did say I was sorry for hitting you when we first met." Siberian pulled away. Abyssinian could hear him, but it was still too dark to see. "I, uh, I'm sorry." 

"Why?" Abyssinian stood slowly, pacing the limits of the cell again. 

"Jeez, Aya, I'm just trying to apologize for hitting you. You need a reason?" 

"No. I meant, why now?" 

The sound of fabric moving might possibly have indicated a shrug. "I dunno. I was just thinking. And, uh, if anything…" he trailed off. 

"The mission hasn't been completed, Siberian." 

"I know. My cyanide is gone. I checked earlier. And there wasn't anything–" 

"Ken." Abyssinian moved to where Siberian's voice had been coming from. "The mission is to return. Do you understand?" 

"Aya –" 

"Do. You. Understand." 

"Okay, Aya." Siberian dropped to the ground next to him, leaning against his shoulder. "I want to go home," he whispered, so quietly Abyssinian could barely hear him. 

The door swung open, light from the hallway piercing and bright, and Abyssinian thought he could see a silhouette through the painful glare. "How touching." It was the same woman who had brought Siberian back to the cell. Abyssinian lunged to his feet, knocking Siberian over in the process and dove for the source of the voice. Despite the temporary setback, Siberian followed him. The woman sighed and stepped to the side, using Abyssinian's own momentum to send him crashing into the wall opposite the door. Abyssinian shook his head, trying to make the stars go away. That _hurt_. 

"Let go of me!" That was Siberian. Abyssinian climbed to his feet, using the wall for support. He felt dizzier than just hitting the wall should account for. The light still blinded him, but by narrowing his eyes, he thought he could see Siberian, restrained, and someone dragging him down the hall. He charged again, not having any other course of action to take. 

The end result was Abyssinian back in the lightless cell, and Siberian somewhere else. This time, though, he could hear the questions the woman asked, and he could hear Siberian screaming after a while. When it stopped, he was still alone in the dark. 

* * *

"Come on, Omi, what's taking so long?" Yohji leaned over Omi's shoulder, looking back and forth between the computer screen and his teammate's face. "Where are they?" 

"I don't know yet." The tension in Omi's voice was palpable, and under normal circumstances, Yohji would have backed down at the sound of it. These weren't normal circumstances, though, and Yohji was far too worried and nervous to simply sit still and wait for Omi to hack into the American government. 

"But –" 

Omi turned to face him. "Yohji, I can't do this if you keep distracting me!" His voice cracked ever so slightly. "Just… wait, please." 

Yohji stared. "Omi…" He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Tell me the second you know anything." The balcony of their hotel room was cold, this time of year, but he needed the artificial calm provided by the nicotine. Standing outside, the slight rush as the drug hit his bloodstream combined with the shock of the freezing air was enough to distract him for a bare few seconds. He shivered, and turned to look at the street below. Traffic moved slowly, red taillights in strings, their counterpoints the white headlights moving with equal lethargy towards myriad and unknown destinations. Yohji didn't particularly care. As far as he was concerned, the Canadian city was the same as a Japanese city, or an American city, or a collection of mud huts in central Africa. The only difference was in the cold, and the fairly close vicinity to where they had last seen Aya and Ken. 

A string of uncharacteristic cursing sounded from the other room. Yohji sighed. When Omi found the others, then he could help. But before that, he felt so… useless. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed. 

"Yohji! Yohji!" If he'd shut the door to the balcony on the way out, he would have shattered it on his way back inside. 

"What?" He was leaning over Omi's shoulder again, but this time Omi pointed at the screen. "There they are." 

Yohji smiled. "These are the schematics?" 

Omi nodded, and copied the relevant data. "We're almost there, Yohji. We are." The screen flashed red almost before he had finished speaking. Omi's eyes bulged. "We have to get out of here, now." He manually killed the power to his laptop and stuffed it in its carrying case. "They know where we are." 

Yohji cursed fluently. Out the window, then. 

They'd taken public transportation to the hotel, and hadn't carried much luggage; while Omi had been fairly sure that he wouldn't be traced, it wasn't enough of a certainty to ignore the need for a backup plan. 

It was fairly easy to gather the belongings they needed – what Yohji had come to think of almost as their "uniforms" and slip outside. Shortly afterwards they reached the street and joined the crowd of pedestrians. The cars driving past paid them no mind; neither did the unmarked cars that contained hard-faced men with expressions that all but screamed "secret agent". Yohji slung an arm around Omi's shoulders and pulled the younger boy a little closer to him. 

"Don't worry, bishounen." He smiled. It was as much of a reassurance to himself as it was to Omi, and Omi probably knew it. The kid smiled back anyway. 

"I know, Yohji." Omi leaned against him slightly. 

Crossing the border proved to be more difficult than either of them had anticipated; Omi's apparent age seemed to warrant the demand for parental consent before the Canadians would allow him across, an event that nearly sent Yohji into a paroxysm of laughter. 

"It wasn't that funny, Yohji," Omi said afterwards. 

Yohji, still grinning, retorted. "Yes it was." It was as much a way of relieving tension as anything, but it had still been pretty damned amusing. Omi, who had been essentially the tactical leader of Weiss since the beginning, who could take care of himself more effectively than anybody Yohji knew or knew of, who had been trained as an assassin starting at the age of five, needed parental consent to cross a national border. Or he would have had they not been able to prove that he was indeed over eighteen years of age. 

Omi huffed. Yohji relented, and ruffled his hair. "Ah, come on, Omittchi, you have to admit that was pretty amusing." 

"You weren't the one they thought was a child!" Despite the words, a tiny grin played about Omi's lips. 

"How close are we?" The subject change didn't throw Omi at all. 

"Very. Just a few hours by bus. We'll get them back, Yohji." So it was Omi's turn to play the comforting role. 

"I know." 

* * *

No one came for Abyssinian. The light changed at random intervals, as far as he could tell; any sense of time he might have possessed was gone. It was almost worse when it was bright than when it was pitch black, but when it was darker, he could hear Siberian's screaming much more clearly. The logical part of his mind rationalized that it was a psychological tactic on the part of his captors, although what they thought they were accomplishing was unclear. He wasn't going to break just because he'd heard Siberian – a strong, competent teammate for whom he cared a great deal – screaming in what seemed like almost unceasing pain. Abyssinian gritted his teeth and performed another kata. If Siberian was indeed incapacitated, he would have to cover during their escape. 

Sounds from outside his door were nothing new, and he ignored them. When they stopped directly opposite his location, he was startled enough to lose his concentration, although he had recovered by the time the door slid open. The woman stepped inside, and smiled. The overly harsh overhead lights cast deep shadows onto her face and hair, layering her features with a sort of grotesque mask. It was fitting. 

"What do you want?" he asked, trying to appear as if her intrusion was of no concern. 

"Well, Abyssinian, your companion seems to have… given out. I'm afraid he's of no further use to us." She shrugged. "It's your turn now." She signaled to two of the men standing behind her. 

Abyssinian prepared for flight. 

The woman sighed. "If you try to escape, I _will_ kill your companion." 

Abyssinian stopped. He couldn't take the chance that she was telling the truth. It was too big a risk. "Let me see him," he said. His voice shook slightly, and he knew he had lost ground. 

The woman smiled, and it was cold. "You are in no position to make demands. His life depends on your cooperation." She spoke rapidly to the men behind her in a language that wasn't Japanese or English. He thought it might have been German; he recognized was seemed like the words for "move" and "different location", and he heard his codename. 

The men backed away from the cell and she followed them. The door slammed shut, and the lights went out at the same moment. The air seemed to swirl around his cell, ruffling his hair as it passed. They were gone. He'd said he would cooperate! A sudden unreasoning fear took him. Had his question endangered Ken's life? He pounded on the door. "You said you wouldn't hurt him!" Silence answered him. 

He hit the door again, openhanded. Color spread out from the point of impact and chased over the walls, dissipating slowly. He turned to watch it. Curious, he tapped the floor now, again, and again. Lights followed the color. Part of his mind insisted that it wasn't quite real, that it wasn't real at all. The rest of him laughed in sheer delight, and he slid to the floor. The light intensified at his back, and he watched the play of shadows on the wall opposite him as if it held the answer to every question he'd ever asked. He could even see his sister. 

Something grabbed him, and he pushed at it. It didn't move, and he forgot about it because it felt like he was moving, and the lights were brighter and the colors faster. He couldn't be moving, though, because he was still locked up. 

Aya laughed. 

* * *

Omi disabled and rerouted security systems, setting the programming on his laptop and leaving it outside. He had hopefully prepared for any contingency, because he wouldn't be able to monitor the computers from outside as he would have during a usual mission. During a usual mission, there would have been three other assassins infiltrating the building instead of just one. He hit the enter key and nodded to Yohji. "Let's go." 

Guards, hallways, passcodes, security cameras, and air vents. Normal mission. This wasn't any different from usual. Omi swallowed and peered around the corner. He waved to Yohji. _Clear._

Yohji darted past him, wire partially extended, and slipped into the open elevator door. Omi set the floor and they climbed into the elevator shaft itself. The elevator moved smoothly downwards and then stopped, caught on the wire trap Yohji had set. Nearly there, and no alarms had been set off. 

The hallway was empty as they pried the doors open and dropped onto the floor. Omi started forward and looked around the corner. People. He could hear them coming. He made a motion to Yohji to go back, but in a stroke of unbelievably bad timing, the way behind them was now blocked as well. A group of men surrounding a prone figure on a gurney. Omi cursed. He noticed that the number of armed guards surrounding an apparently unconscious man, and oriented so that their attention was focused on the prone figure rather than their surroundings, was far larger than one would normally expect on even the most dangerous of men. Then he caught the sight of unmistakable crimson hair. Was that Aya? "Balinese!" he hissed. 

Balinese turned just as the first group of men caught sight of them. Wire sang, and blood spilled. "What?" 

"That's Abyssinian!" Bombay threw himself to the floor as gunfire rang out, hurling darts at Abyssinian's guards. It didn't take long to dispatch the men already there, but the sound of gunfire had been as good as an alarm, and he could hear men shouting and coming closer. Bombay scrambled over to the gurney. "Abyssinian!" 

Abyssinian's eyes were open, but there was a dazed half-smile on his lips and his pupils were dilated so wide that only a thin sliver of iris remained visible. Bombay shook him. "Come on, Abyssinian, snap out of it. Wake up!" 

Abyssinian started laughing quietly. "Lights… pretty lights…." 

Bombay groaned. "Balinese, he's completely out of it." 

"Where's Siberian?" Balinese stood with his back to Bombay, facing the direction with the most noise. 

"Just down this hall. Give me a hand here." Bombay sent a silent thought of thanks to whatever deity had seen fit to grant him another couple of inches in height and the added muscle to go along with it. Before, he wouldn't have been able to carry Abyssinian. Now he needed to; he at least had a chance in hell of accuracy throwing a dart while so encumbered; Balinese needed full range of motion. 

"Come on!" Balinese jogged down the hall, Bombay right behind him. Abyssinian was heavier than he looked, but at least he had gone mostly limp and wasn't struggling. Bombay shifted the weight on his back and handed the lock picks to Balinese. It was a futile gesture. The door to what had been tagged as Siberian's holding cell was standing open and the room itself was empty. 

"Hey! You! Stop!" Several voices shouted in English. 

"Balinese, we have to withdraw." The words were difficult to say, but at this point Bombay wasn't sure they could get even themselves out, much less find and rescue Siberian. 

"No!" Balinese fought, sending his wire through its macabre dance, arguing verbally even as he followed Bombay. 

"We can't fight like this. Not if we have to carry Abyssinian. We can't!" He threw the darts, running, trying to stay out of the line of direct fire. His accuracy suffered, but at least most of his weapons found some kind of target. 

"…I know…" They were nearly out of the building now. There was a window Bombay had marked earlier and it was one corridor away. Balinese reached under his coat for the detonator to the charges they had set before infiltrating the building. 

The hallway was momentarily clear and Bombay darted across. Balinese followed seconds later and with a shower of glass and gunfire, they were clear. Shouting filled the air behind them. Balinese held up the detonator. "I… Bombay…." 

Bombay took the detonator out of his hands. "Get my laptop." Balinese scooped up the piece of equipment, watching Bombay out of the corner of his eyes. Bombay fiddled with the detonator and pressed the button. 

"Bombay! Siberian is –" 

"We can't go back for him." Explosions shook the ground, and fire blossomed in the windows. It took Balinese a moment to notice something odd; there wasn't nearly enough damage to account for all of the explosives they'd used. "At least not yet. Come on. We can't do Siberian any good if we're caught." 

"I can't believe you just –" 

Bombay swung around to face him, Abyssinian's unmoving form still draped across his back. "We have to get out of here. Now." His expression softened slightly. "Now, Yohji. Or we can't help Ken." 

Yohji's first impulse was to either rescue his teammate or die in the attempt, but he was fully aware that the chances of success at this point were virtually nil. Cursing, he followed Omi. 

* * *

Aya woke with the worst headache he could remember ever having. Sound thundered through his skull, ricocheting off each surface in whatever space he was in and creating waves of cacophony. He groaned and clutched at his ears, trying to drown it out. It lessened slightly, some of it resolving into a voice. 

"…Aya?" 

He was going to be sick. He mumbled something; it must have been the right thing, because he could feel sharp motion and then cool air, and someone supporting him as he retched. Soothing hands rubbed circles on his back, and when the spasms finally subsided, someone held up lukewarm water to his lips. 

He leaned back against the solid comforting weight behind him. It was so much easier just to sleep. 

* * *

Omi looked worriedly at Yohji once they had gotten Aya back into the borrowed car. "What's wrong with him?" 

Yohji shook his head. "Hell if I know." He adjusted Aya's limp form, trying to make his teammate as comfortable as possible, even if said teammate was currently incapable of feeling it. "We might have to put him through some sort of detox when we get back." Thinking about Aya was easier than letting his thoughts dwell on Ken; he could actually _do_ something for the redhead. "Omi," he began. 

Omi started to reply, but before he could speak the first word, they both heard the distinctive soft chime of Omi's communications link. Yohji frowned. "That's supposed to be…" 

It was supposed to be used during missions, a covert way of communicating between the members of Weiss. 

"That's not…" Omi didn't say what Yohji knew they were both thinking. If Ken had managed to free himself somehow, and contact them… It was against all odds, but in spite of that Yohji felt hope rising. 

Omi flicked the device open. "Bombay." 

"Return to Japan immediately." 

The voice that issued from the speakers was unmistakably Manx. It was an unprecedented method of contact; then again, this was a rather unprecedented situation. 

"Manx." Yohji leaned forward. 

Manx cut him off. "Immediately, Balinese. Kritiker cannot afford the possibility of further leaks." 

"But Ke- Siberian is –" 

"Siberian will be taken care of. The remaining members of Weiss are to return to Japan immediately for debriefing." Her voice was clipped and devoid of the warmth that so often filled it. 

"We understand, Manx. Bombay out." Omi clicked the device back off. 

"Omi!" Yohji couldn't say anything further. Omi couldn't mean to leave Ken here. 

"We're returning to Japan, Balinese." Omi's tone brooked no argument, and Yohji had no choice but to capitulate. They were Weiss, after all, first and foremost.

_End Part Two_


	4. Part Three: Duration

I wanted to once again thank those who reviewed.  ^.^  Please enjoy.

_* * *_

_Part Three: Duration_

Pain. 

Pain and light and questions. Always questions. Ken closed his eyes, and opened them again when the action prompted a stinging slap across his already bruised left cheek. 

"Morrissey was a target. I heard you say that. Explain what you meant." 

"He was corrupt." Maybe the pain would stop. Or at least lessen. If he could tell her enough. "He had to be eliminated." 

"Most of the people in this world are corrupted in one way or another." The inquisitor gave a short bark of laughter. When he didn't respond, she grabbed his chin and forced his eyes to meet hers. "Who plays God, _Siberian_? Who gave you your weapons, your … targets, your little kitty-cat code-names?" 

Ken smiled. It was hard to smile. "God," he said beatifically. 

She slapped him again, but he held onto the smile. 

"God sends us as the white hunters of the dark. To seek out evil, and destroy it." He lapsed into Japanese. "White hunters, hunt the tomorrow of these dark beasts… we… Abyssinian…" 

She turned away in disgust. 

"I know what you're doing, Siberian," she said after a moment. "You're trying to distract me. But I will find out who you work for." She gestured, and someone Ken couldn't see handed her a slender cylinder of metal. The end of it glowed a dull orange. "I noticed you had some burn scars," she said conversationally. "Fairly well-healed. I wonder if these will heal as well." 

The tip of the heated metal touched his flesh, lightly scoring a line across his ribs. Ken swallowed a scream. 

"You don't like fire, do you." She circled around behind him, and hit him across the shoulders. "Whom do you work for?" 

"Myself. We worked as a team. No orders." He bit his lip lightly. 

"You're lying." 

"We were called. Called to cleanse the earth." Lie. He had to lie and make it sound real. It was the only way to get around torture. He had to garble the truth. 

She shook her head. "You Japanese have such a superiority complex." 

Ken closed his eyes again. _Hang on, Siberian, just hang on. Everything's gonna be fine._ The subconscious litany was almost reassuring. 

He wasn't sure how much longer the session went on; everything devolved into a haze of pain and heat and the sound of voices rummaging through his thoughts, picking out what they wanted, but only what he wanted them to see. He spoke, words and phrases, not knowing what language he spoke them in. When she decided that he'd had enough, she ordered him thrown back into his cell. 

At least it was clean. 

* * *

Three days. Three days since Weiss had been informed that its status as inactive would be enforced, and infractions would not be tolerated. It had been easier at first, not to think about Ken. Aya had taken up their attention and their worry. But as whatever drugs had been used on him were slowly cleansed from his system, and his recovery neared completion, the reality of the situation began to chafe. 

Omi stared at the pages of a history book, none of the words making sense even though he'd read them several times. He had a test in just under six hours. It was ridiculous, really. He had made the decision to abandon one of his closest friends in hostile territory with the full knowledge that said friend would probably be quietly killed by the organization they both worked for to prevent a leak of critical information. Critical information. That was a good one. He dropped his head down on his folded arms. And he had to study for a test, because no matter his standing within Kritiker, he still wanted to graduate from a university. He needed something tangible; Kritiker was nothing but smoke and mirrors. 

The front door slammed, and jerked him out of the light doze he'd fallen into. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, and walked into the front hallway just in time to catch Yohji. 

Literally catch Yohji; the older assassin was apparently incapable of supporting his own weight. "Are you all right?" Omi asked, cursing himself for the question even as he asked it. It was a ridiculous thing to ask. 

Yohji started laughing, and nearly collapsed the rest of the way; only Omi's grip held him more or less upright. Omi shook his head and began to pull his thoroughly drunk teammate up the stairs. It had been a very long time since he'd seen Yohji like this; not since the early days, when they'd been hunting Takatori and all of them had been chasing their own personal demons. 

Getting Yohji into bed took longer than Omi thought it would; Yohji proved himself not quite as capable a drinker as he once had been, and it was only by luck that Omi got him into the bathroom and managed to avoid Yohji throwing up on the floor. Eventually, though, Yohji was quiet and asleep – if you could call it that – and Omi returned to his history test. 

Aya was waiting for him. Not waiting _for_ him, specifically, but he sat in the kitchen, slender fingers wrapped around a mug of what looked like coffee. Omi devoutly hoped that it was indeed coffee; guilt aside, one drunken teammate per night was enough and he STILL had the stupid test in the morning. 

Aya was crying. 

The sight was so unexpected, so out of character, that Omi froze. Aya didn't cry. Aya got angry, or sulked, or brooded. Once in a while, he smiled. He never cried. But as Omi watched, Aya shoved the mug away – where it spilled all over the table, missing Omi's books by bare millimeters – and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. 

For one brief moment, Omi was annoyed. Why was it that he had to be the responsible one, and his two adult teammates could act like self-indulgent children and assume that someone else would take care of them? As quickly as the emotion had surfaced, though, it passed. Omi crossed the kitchen floor and put a tentative hand on Aya's shoulder. He expected to be shoved away; as close as Aya had come to the rest of them, he still held himself apart. It hurt, a little, but that was just the way Aya was. 

Aya turned and clung to him, sobbing in earnest now. Suppressing his surprise, Omi wrapped his arms around Aya, rubbing the other man's shoulders, murmuring quietly, stroking his hair. After a while, Aya calmed down. Omi coaxed him upstairs, started to take him to his own room, and remembered that he and Yohji hadn't yet put sheets on Aya's bed; Aya had been in a Kritiker hospital for the past three days while they made sure he wouldn't suffer permanent damage, and the two of them had wanted to make sure Aya's apartment was habitable upon his return. Omi took Aya to his own room instead. As he started to leave, Aya grabbed his wrist. 

"Stay," he said, voice and word nearly unrecognizable. It was the first word he'd spoken since Omi had found him earlier. 

Omi acquiesced; Aya was Aya, after all, and rarely asked for anything. He crawled into the bed, curled himself around Aya, and waited. It didn't take long for Aya to fall asleep, exhausted as he was. When he was sure Aya couldn't hear him, Omi let his own tears of frustration and guilt fall. 

* * *

Fire. Heat. Pain. Smoke. Ice. Water… water… cold, cool, relief… _can't breathe, can't breathe, so cold, it's burning, make it stop, anything to make it stop…_

Darkness. _Safe in the dark. Almost safe in the dark. Can't see. Is that … Yohji? Yohji? Where are you? No, Yohji, don't leave, stay with me… Where did you … oh gods… that's Yohji, he's bleeding, help me Omi, help me, he's… Omi? Wake up, Omi, what's wrong? Why won't you… No, no… Aya, we have to get… But… No… _

Light… _stay away from me! Don't touch… please… stop… where's Yohji? Why didn't he come back for me? Please, I don't know… I don't know…_

_He fights with wire, dances with it, so beautiful… Please… _Pain, and smoke. _…let me breathe… I can't…_

* * *

Yohji levered himself off the floor. He'd apparently managed to miss the bed again last night. "Ow," he muttered. The last two weeks around the Koneko had not been particularly pleasant. Aya had alternated between his normal brooding self – albeit with the tightest rein on his self-control that Yohji had ever seen in anyone – and bouts of tearful sulking. Yohji, after the first time, tactfully ignored Aya during those thankfully decreasing episodes. Omi had explained that Aya was still off balance; something about a combination of the drugs the Americans had poured into him and the psychological ramifications of his temporary incarceration. So Yohji tried to treat Aya as normally as possible, and let Omi take care of the redhead when the occasion warranted it. Omi thought Aya would be all right, given some time. 

In the interim, though, Aya's instability only added to the tension around the Koneko. There had been no overt contact from Kritiker at all, except for the afternoons when one of the psychiatrists came by to talk to Aya. Omi sometimes participated in the sessions, but Yohji avoided them. He didn't want to talk about America. He didn't want to think about America. 

Yohji crawled up onto the bed, pulling the blanket over his eyes. His head hurt, and the sunlight shining around the edges of his drawn shades mocked him with its brightness. 

"Yohji?" A light knock on the door followed the sound of his name. 

He ignored it, pressing his face into the pillow. 

"Yohji?" The door eased open, quietly, and Omi entered the room almost silently. "Are you in here?" 

Yohji could hear his feet padding across the carpeted floor. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Yohji, I want you to come downstairs, all right? Talk to us." Omi sounded worn out. 

Yohji shook his head minutely. 

"You need to talk to us, Yohji." The bed shifted as Omi settled on it, leaning across him. 

"How would you know what I need." He thought he'd said the words too quietly for Omi to hear, but apparently not. Omi tensed. 

"You haven't worked your shift since we've been back, Yohji. I don't think I've seen you sober for more than fifteen minutes at a time since Aya got out of the hospital. I can't do this by myself, Yohji, please." 

He couldn't. He couldn't do it. "Go away, Omi." 

"Yohji, Ken wouldn't want –" 

Yohji sat up, furious. "Shut up! What would you know about what Ken would want? He's not even dead! Stop talking about him like he's never coming back!" 

Omi was on his feet in a fraction of a second, startled. The color drained out of his face. "Yohji… I…" 

Yohji turned his back to Omi and lay down again. "Go away, Omi." 

Omi left, as quietly as he'd arrived, but Yohji could hear him trying not to cry outside in the hall after he'd shut the door. Yohji pulled the pillow over his head.

End Part Three 


	5. Intermission One: Manx

Once again, thank you to all those who reviewed.  This week's update is very short, for which I do apologize.  Please enjoy the intermission.  ^.^

* * *

_Intermission One: Manx_

Status Report   
Subject: Weiss   
Assessor: Manx 

Weiss is a unique unit in that its members are almost preternaturally close to one another; because of this, they function remarkably well as a field unit, and have done so longer than any field unit in recorded history without breakdown or significant battle fatigue. 

However, the stability of the team appears to rest completely in the presence of all four members. The strength they possess while functioning as a team has vanished since the loss of one of those members. The agent codenamed Siberian is a security risk and must be eliminated as soon as possible; intelligence indicates that he is to date alive, but the probability of compromise of Kritiker security grows exponentially with every passing day. There is little to no chance of his retrieval without significant risk to Kritiker. 

The remaining members of Weiss continue to destabilize, with the exception of Abyssinian, who remains at a level of psychological recovery barely above his condition upon his retrieval. Recommend separating the three remaining members of Weiss for rehabilitation and reassignment. If they show no signs of improvement within a limited timeframe – which has yet to be determined – recommend elimination of remainder of Weiss. 

On a related note, regular reshuffling of field teams in the future is strongly recommended to avoid situations similar to that of Weiss. The benefits of the stability achieved by such a team appear to be outweighed by the detriment caused by the loss of a member. 

On a related note, all international activity has been temporarily halted. 

End report. 


	6. Part Four: Disruption

Happy weekend t'you, and once again thank you to all those who reviewed.  ^.^  Enjoy.

* * *

_Part Four: Disruption_

Aya was the one who found Omi. It could have been worse; he'd only been there for a few hours, maybe since the previous evening. However long it had been, the first Yohji heard of it was a frantic pounding on his door. 

He opened his eyes, finding cotton directly in his field of view. He blinked a few times, and the pounding started again. It took him a few moments to dissociate the noise from the dull pain throbbing behind his eyes. "What?" he managed through a dry throat. 

"Yohji!" That was it. Yohji blinked. Aya was outside, doing his level best to pound the door in, and he couldn't even offer an explanation? 

"What?" he repeated. He didn't want to get up if he didn't have to. 

"Yohji!!" 

Yohji groaned. Aya apparently wasn't going to go away until Yohji found out what he wanted. "Fine, fine, just a minute." He cast around for pants – he had woken up sans clothing – and pulled them on. "I said, just a minute!" he shouted when the pounding continued unabated. He yanked the door open and dodged Aya's closed fist, raised to slam down on the door yet again. "What do you _want_, Aya?" 

Aya looked terrified. Internally, Yohji groaned. He never knew what to do with Aya when Omi wasn't around during his… episodes. He'd seemed to improve for a while, but now it seemed almost like he was never stable. "Yohji…" 

"Where's Omi?" If he could just give Aya to Omi, then he could go back to sleep and forget. 

Aya shook his head. "He…" At a loss for words, he started down the hall. 

Yohji rolled his eyes and followed. 

Aya led the way to Omi's apartment, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure Yohji was still there. The door to the apartment stood partially open. Yohji frowned. That was just careless. Both Aya and Omi knew better. Aya didn't seem to want to walk into the apartment, so Yohji pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. 

At first, he didn't see anything out of place. The apartment was neat and clean, as per Omi's habits. The computer's screensaver flickered on the monitor, and the bed was made. Omi sat on the couch, hands in his lap. 

"Oi, Omi." Yohji walked over to him. "What's going on? What's up with Aya?" He could hear Aya behind him, footfalls light and cautious. "Omi?" Omi's eyes were open, but he didn't seem to be looking _at_ anything. "Omi!" Yohji touched him on the shoulder, but Omi didn't so much as blink. Yohji shook him, but that failed to produce a response as well. For a brief moment, the horrible thought that Omi had committed suicide ran through Yohji's mind. But no, Omi's chest rose and fell in an even rhythm and his heartbeat was strong and regular. 

Yohji snapped his fingers in front of Omi's eyes. "Hey, kid, wake up." This wasn't happening. Omi had to be the strong one. "Omi!!" Aya started breathing shallowly behind him, shallowly and quickly, making little sounds of panic high in his throat. Yohji rounded on him. Aya's face was white, and his jaw clenched. "Shut up! This is not the time for that!" Aya stilled, eyes wide. 

Yohji turned back to Omi. "Okay, kid. I don't know what you think you're doing, but cut it out." Omi blinked slowly, eyes remaining blank. 

Seven various methods of awakening someone later, Yohji rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. "He probably needs to be taken to a hospital or something," he muttered. Omi had remained completely unresponsive to every type of stimulus Yohji or Aya could think of. 

"Yohji?" Aya asked tentatively. He had remained calmer than Yohji had expected. 

"What is it?" 

"I have the number for the Kritiker psychologist here…" He pulled a card out of his back pocket and hesitantly proffered it. 

"That's probably as good an option as any. It's not like we can take care of him if he… uh…" He shook his head. "Let me see that." 

"I'll do it." That sounded almost like the old Aya, imperious and insisting on taking control of everything. 

"Fine. I'm going to shower." He headed back down the hall. 

Aya didn't stop him. 

* * *

The telephone was ringing when the door to the kitchen swung open. Without thinking, Aya flung the cordless phone at whoever was in the doorway. Manx leaned to the side, letting the phone hit the wall and crack. "Nice reflexes," she commented drily. 

Aya crossed his arms and looked to the side. "What do you want?" he asked after a few moments of silence. 

"Weiss is to be reactivated." She held up a packet and a videotape. "You, Balinese, and Bombay –" 

"No." 

"What?" She sounded stunned. 

Without speaking, Aya turned and walked up the stairs towards Omi's room. Manx arrived a few seconds later, surrounded by a cloud of stiffly outraged silence. He nodded towards Omi's catatonic form. 

"Oh, no." Manx started forward. Aya put an arm out, blocking her path. 

"He won't rouse. We've tried." He knelt beside Omi. The sight of Omi so still and silent brought a rising tide of panic into his throat, but he had to suppress it. He had to push it back down. He blinked, trying to dispel the pricking wetness in his eyes. Aya rested his hand on Omi's bare shoulder. Omi's skin was slightly cool to the touch. 

"I see." Manx had a cell phone, although Aya wasn't quite sure where she'd gotten it. "We'll have him evaluated. You and Balinese will take the mission. You will work with two temporary replacements for Bombay and Siberian." 

Aya nodded. He didn't quite trust himself to keep his voice level. To avoid looking at Manx, he cast around the room for something to keep Omi warmer. There was a blanket draped over the back of the couch, so he wrapped it carefully around Omi's shoulders. Omi remained completely limp as Aya shifted him around, but his breathing seemed easier when Aya had finished. On an impulse, Aya picked Omi up and cradled him in his lap, resting Omi's temple against his shoulder. He glanced up at Yohji's footsteps in the doorway, looking past a sardonic Manx to see his remaining teammate looking once again immaculate. 

Yohji stepped past Manx, and nodded down at Omi. "How is he?" 

Aya shook his head and held onto Omi a little tighter. "No change." He swallowed. "Manx said…" 

"There's a mission which requires your attention, Balinese. You and Abyssinian will be working with two temporary replacements." 

"You want us to go out on a _mission_?" 

Manx held up a hand to stop Yohji's tirade before it started. "As I told Abyssinian, Weiss is to be reactivated. We had originally intended to reactivate Bombay as well, but present circumstances do not appear to allow for that." A note of subdued sarcasm threaded its way through her voice. 

"You…" Yohji shook his head. "Fine. Give us the mission parameters." 

Manx held out the envelope. Aya returned his attention to Omi, letting Yohji read over the information. Omi wasn't quite so pale, and his skin was warmer. Aya looked down and frowned. Omi's eyes were closed. 

"Omittchi?" He almost never used the nicknames his teammates had somehow ended up with. Nothing. He hadn't really expected a response, but the lack of one was disheartening all the same. He kissed Omi's forehead gently, not caring if Manx or Yohji were watching. 

* * *

The darkness continued unabated. He should have felt pain before now – pain and heat and fire. But nothing came. _Am I crazy? Have I finally lost it?_ Ken tried to see past the darkness, but he wasn't even sure if his eyes were open or not. The floor underneath his outstretched hand was cool and smooth, leeching some of the heat away from his overstressed body. He could feel ice coating his fingers, running up the skin of his arm. It would reach his heart and he would die. 

The door opened, reddish light beating against his eyelids. So they were closed after all. He opened his eyes. Sparks wavered in and out, colors fading around the edges. He squinted, trying to see more clearly. Sound thundered against his ears, but it was as fragmented as his vision, and he could make no sense of it. 

Pain flashed momentarily, and he struck out blindly. The shock jarring up his arms told him that he'd made a solid hit. The muffled cry – clear even to his ears – that rang out confirmed it. The light vanished again, and he curled up in the corner of the room. If his luck held, they might leave him alone forever. 

* * *

"Balinese, in position." 

"Abyssinian, in position." 

"Calico, in position." 

"Angora, in position. Calico, I want you to advance thirty meters and hold until I give the signal. Abyssinian, stand guard at the rear entrance. Balinese, provide cover for Abyssinian. I'm going in." 

Yohji made a face at his headset. Who did this Angora think he was, anyway? Just taking charge like that. Although, to be honest, if he'd been in command of placing the members of this team – temporary team, he reminded himself – he wouldn't have let Aya lead either. Or himself. It still rankled to take orders from a strange teenager, though. "Understood, Angora." He knew perfectly well that if he and Aya did not perform up to expectations on this mission, they would in all probability be labeled as liabilities. 

He glanced at Aya, and covered the small microphone. _You okay?_ he mouthed. Aya nodded tightly. Yohji nodded back and returned his attention to the back door of the building, and waited for Angora's signal. 

The signal didn't quite come. Shortly after Angora entered the building, all hell broke loose. All Yohji remembered later of the mission was the desperate struggle to guard Aya as Aya guarded him while they tried to reach their teammates and the target. 

He thought Aya took out the target, but he wasn't quite sure, since he had thrown Calico's slim form across one shoulder and was fighting one-handed. It wasn't that their enemies were highly skilled; in fact, most of them seemed fairly inept. No, the problem lay in the sheer number of bodyguards hired by this particular target. And of course, Manx's information had not contained that particular revelation. 

"Yohji! We're going!" Aya's voice cut across the nearly silent hiss of his wire and the shouts of the bodyguards with equal efficiency. Yohji nodded once and started to make his way to the door. By the time they got out of the building and detonated the charges that they had placed beforehand, Yohji was exhausted. Calico was heavier than she looked, and it had been far too long since he'd used the wire as a weapon. 

Manx stood waiting at the door of the Koneko upon their return. The glare she sent both Aya and Yohji would at one point have frozen Yohji in his tracks. Now he was simply too tired to really care. Calico had awakened during the ride back and nearly thrown up all over the inside of his car. Head wounds had a nasty way of causing nausea, Yohji remembered. He'd dropped her off at the specified address and made sure that Angora knew what to do in any type of emergency. Arrogant brat had nearly gotten them all killed; Yohji would be damned if the kid wouldn't be useful _somewhere_. 

"Well?" Manx said acidly, and Yohji realized he'd let his thoughts wander. He hadn't heard anything Manx had said. 

"I'm sorry." He wasn't entirely insincere. "Why don't you come inside?" He opened the door with as much of a flourish as he could manage. 

"Balinese, I _asked_ what you thought you were doing out there." She followed him inside regardless, heels clicking on the linoleum floor. 

Yohji looked around before closing the door. Aya hadn't returned, but that was to be expected. He usually vanished after a mission, and today looked to be no exception. "I was doing my job, Manx. Eliminating the target and protecting my teammates." 

"Kritiker field directives clearly state that if your teammate is incapacitated or otherwise jeopardizing the mission, they are to be left behind or stopped." 

"We got the target, Manx. Isn't that what counts?" The sound of the motorcycle's engine caught Yohji's attention. Aya stalked through the door a few seconds later. 

"Manx." Aya nodded coolly. Yohji vaguely remembered seeing Aya pull Angora out of the building earlier, but he wasn't sure. He supposed it wasn't really important. 

"The mission was completed, Manx," Yohji repeated. 

Manx sighed. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Yohji. Honestly. Try not to pull a stunt like that again." She turned to go. 

"Wait." Aya's voice startled Yohji. "How's Omi?" 

Manx shook her head, not looking at either of them. "No change. Believe me, Abyssinian, I'll tell you if anything happens." The door slammed shut behind her. 

"Well, fuck." Yohji pulled out a cigarette. "Fuck." It was the only word he could think of that fit the circumstances. 

* * *

Light flashed in the dark, bright and painful, but still welcome. The air tasted odd, stale and fresh simultaneously. He knew that scent. It was followed by color and disorientation, and then he spoke. He wasn't sure what exactly he said, only that it made no sense. He was rather proud of himself, for having enough control over his tongue to prevent the truth from spilling out. He wasn't sure what the truth was, exactly, any more, but he knew that the words he spoke were lies. 

Sometimes he almost believed the lies, but in the end he always knew them for what they were. In a way, they were his only source of stability. There were times when he couldn't quite remember his own name, but he always remembered Weiss. And he never spoke of it. Weiss was too precious to let slip, even if he wasn't sure exactly what it was. 

Someone spoke to him, sound sliding down waves of light and coalescing into incomprehensible syllables inside his brain. He laughed, and let the colors carry him away. 

* * *

"Good morning, Weiss." Manx smiled. 

Aya glared balefully at her cheerful face. For the past four nights, she'd given them a different mission. Always a straightforward in-and-out, always something they could accomplish within the same day it was given to them. It was nevertheless exhausting, and working with two new team members made it more difficult. Aya was used to Omi's quickness and Ken's efficiency. He knew exactly how they would react, and it was therefore much simpler to plan strategy. 

After the second night, Manx had pulled Angora out of the team and replaced him with another woman. Calico had now recovered, and so the mission tonight would be once again carried out by four members. 

This time, the mission called for the elimination of the owner of a series of clubs in the Shinjuku area. 

"Infiltration, I suppose?" Yohji asked, sounding like he did so more because it was expected than any real desire to know. 

Manx nodded sharply. "The infiltration unit will consist of Abyssinian and Somalian." 

Aya looked up from his katana; he'd been sharpening it since Manx had arrived in the flower shop. Yohji had apparently been able to tune the sound out, judging by his lack of reaction. Everyone else had winced each time he'd dragged the whetstone downwards. "No." 

Manx had the audacity to look surprised at his flat statement. "Excuse me?" 

"You heard me." Aya ran the stone along his blade again. "If I'm working as an infiltration unit, then Balinese is going to be my backup." His voice was steady, an approximation of what it had been…before. He was relieved about that. 

"Abyssinian, you do not dictate the tactics for Weiss." Manx crossed the room and stood above him, arms crossed. 

"No." Another stroke down the blade. "Bombay does that." And another. 

"I don't need to state the obvious, Abyssinian," Manx returned tightly. 

"In Bombay's absence, I am most qualified to act as tactician." It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it. Only an idiot would put him in charge in the state he was in. And yet, Aya's pride and self-reliance would not let him say otherwise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yohji cover his face with his hand in a motion of disbelief. 

Manx raised one delicately penciled eyebrow. "Is that so." 

Aya returned her gaze as calmly as he could, hands still. The silence grew, Aya unwilling to break his tenuous hold on what little he could still try to control. He nearly jumped when Somalian broke in. 

"Calico and I can act as backup outside. That's fine. Balinese and Abyssinian would be fine as the –" 

"Somalian." Manx spoke without taking her eyes from Aya. "You and Abyssinian will go in as the inside team. Balinese and Calico will be your backup outside. Do I make myself clear?" 

Hating himself for giving in, Aya nodded. 

Manx smiled thinly, handed the data to Calico, and stalked out of the briefing room. Aya stood and rammed the katana back into its sheath with all the force he could. "Give me the details on the necessary equipment, Calico. I'll be upstairs." 

He all but ran upstairs, half-blinded by tears he refused to shed in the presence of a stranger. The shop was closed, its windows shuttered. He slumped behind the counter, still holding the katana. He didn't realize he'd hit the glass of the display window until it shattered, raining shards of light over his hands and feet. He stared for a moment at his clenched fist, uncomprehending, until blood began to flow and a dull ache traveled from his knuckles outward. 

"You should be more careful." Calico's voice rang from the shadows in the corner near the door. "We wouldn't want you to permanently injure yourself." Her voice was lilting, the light tone masking the threat Aya knew was underneath. 

Aya let his hand relax and drop to his side. Blood mingled with the glass on the floor, black in the moonlight. "You wouldn't," he said finally, and shouldered his way past her. He didn't bother cleaning the blood or the shards out of his skin; he simply entered his apartment and locked the door. 

* * *

It was warm, where he was. Floating and pleasant. He could see the people he knew, had known as a child, people he'd simply observed, all moving, laughing, talking. The light blurred their faces, so that their features were obscured. It didn't really matter, though, because he could see the bright colors and that was enough. 

It took him a while to notice that there was no sound. The wind blew, the sun shone, people spoke and moved, but it all occurred in some sort of eerie silence. He frowned, because this wasn't quite the way things were supposed to be. 

Shortly afterwards, he noticed that he was incapable of sound as well. No matter how loud he shouted, he couldn't hear anything. He began to wonder if he might be deaf; it was certainly possible that something had gone wrong during a mission and impaired his hearing. But no, no one else could hear him either. They responded to each other, laughed and chattered, but not to him. And his eyes… the people faded ever so briefly into a wavering almost-focus before sliding back into obscurity. 

At that point, he noticed that he couldn't touch anyone either; that, in fact, he was no longer possessed of a body at all. 

_Am I dead?_

For some reason, he thought that might be a sort of relief, although he wasn't sure why. Presumably, one should be afraid of death, but he wasn't quite sure on that count either. His thoughts were fuzzy, separated and pinned down for observation by the warm golden cloud surrounding him. 

_Like butterflies_, he thought bemusedly. He dwelled on the images of butterflies pinned down in boxes, their fluttering wings forever stilled, until something else caught his attention. Sound. 

_So I'm not deaf._

And he could almost think clearly, instead of just drifting. The sounds came again, but he wasn't sure exactly what they were. Maybe voices, but the tone certainly didn't match any of the faces he could see. It was urgent, shouting, echoing oddly. Flashes of white light punctuated his vision now, too, as if a spotlight were shining in his eyes. He groaned slightly and tried to look away, but had no success. 

His attempts seemed to encourage the voices, though. He still had no idea what the hell they were saying, but they hurt. Stinging pain shot through his chest and he gasped for air. The golden mist dissipated slowly, the images of his past and present fading, and all he knew was the pure and total relief of simply being able to breathe. 

After a few moments, he found his eyes shut, so he opened them. It took most of the strength he had, but he managed it anyway. There were people looking down at him, various stages of worry and concentration emanating from each one. One smiled slightly, and spoke, but he didn't understand her words. Someone else moved something metallic away from his chest, and he shivered in the sudden cold. As someone else bent over him, the light moved ever so slightly off to the side. 

Blinking slowly, Ken Hidaka looked up into the faces of American paramedics and fainted. 

* * *

The mission was an unqualified disaster. Yohji lit his fourth cigarette, staring at nothing in particular. The target had been eliminated, true, but the whole team had nearly gone down with it. As it was, about three dozen denizens of the Tokyo area had gotten a clear sight of Somalian, short daggers bloody as she stood over the target's body. Manx had been furious; she'd blamed Aya and Yohji for the mess. Yohji hadn't particularly cared what Manx said at that point. He was exhausted, nicotine-deprived, and generally sick of the whole mess. The only good thing about the whole evening had been the sight of Omi, awake and at least partially his old self. 

The door to the alleyway opened, and Omi slipped through it. Sound from inside the briefing room in the basement was briefly audible before Omi let the door fall shut again. 

" – first goddamned mission! How could you let this happen?" 

"If you want me to be a fucking babysitter, Manx, then bloody tell me! I'm a damned assassin! Assassin! Not some kind of nursemaid!" 

Omi leaned against the closed door. "Sorry to bother you, Yohji." 

Yohji shrugged. "They're still at it?" 

Aya had taken a rather strong exception to Manx's condemnation of his conduct during the mission. They'd been shouting on and off for the better part of the past hour and a half. Yohji rather thought it was due to his relief at seeing Omi all right, and took it as a sign that the old Aya would be back with them shortly. 

"There's nothing really permanent, is there, Omittchi?" he asked abruptly, not sure why he said it. 

"No." Omi's reply was heartbreakingly simple. "That's why every second counts, Yohji." He smiled sadly, his wide blue eyes knowing beyond his years, darkened with a shadow no human should have to endure. And yet he smiled. 

Yohji gave in to impulse one more time, flicking away the smoldering remains of his cigarette and claiming Omi's mouth in a bruising kiss. "Every moment, kid." He pulled Omi into an equally rough embrace. "I'm glad to see you back." Unlike Omi, Ken wasn't coming back and he knew it. But he could accept it, now. Even if they hadn't made the most of the time they'd had together, they'd still had that time. And he… he had to look towards the future. 

Omi returned the hug just as tightly. "Yeah, me too." 

He let his arms drop slowly, and rummaged in his trenchcoat pocket. "Cigarette?" 

"Yohji!" Omi was purely indignant now, no shadows, no introspection. "Those cause cancer, you know." 

"Yeah, yeah." Yohji tapped the bottom of the pack and shook it until one started sliding out. He held it out to Omi. "Cigarette?" 

Omi buried his face in his hands. "Hopeless." 

Yohji shrugged again. "Your loss." He lit up and took a long drag. 

"We'll miss him, Yohji, but we'll be okay. He'd want us to be okay." 

Yohji glanced at Omi out of the corner of his eyes. The shadow was back, but it didn't dominate Omi's eyes now. Rather, it lent some sort of depth and maturity. Yohji grinned and tousled Omi's hair. "Yeah, Omittchi, I know." 

The door burst open, nearly slamming into Omi. Manx came storming out, followed by an abject Somalian. Calico followed a bit more sedately, but she was barely into Manx's small car before Manx pulled away from the curb, tires squealing. Aya came running out bare seconds later, obviously furious, looking as if he'd like nothing better than to hurl his katana at the rapidly shrinking vehicle. Omi and Yohji looked at each other, and Omi started giggling. 

Yohji couldn't help it. He joined in, doubled over laughing. 

"What's so funny?" Aya asked crossly, staring down at them. For some reason, his question only made it funnier. 

"Ken," Yohji finally got out. 

"What?" Aya's eyes narrowed dangerously. 

"Seize… seize the day," Omi clarified hastily. He stopped laughing. Yohji managed to calm down as well, taking deep breaths. "Ken would want us to…" 

"I get it." Aya turned around and stalked back inside, but his walk was less tense than it had been in weeks. 

"We're really going to be all right," Yohji said wonderingly, half to himself and half to Omi. 

"Yeah, we are." Omi gave Yohji an apologetic smile and ran after Aya. Yohji had a brief glimpse of Aya's arm around Omi's shoulders before the doors shut again. He raised the cigarette to his lips again and now he gazed upwards, searching for the stars amid the bright fog of the streetlights.

_End Part Four_


	7. Intermission Two: Ken

Hi again.  ^.^  I'd like to say thank you to those who have reviewed.  I'd also like to address one particular comment, since the review was not signed, and no email address was given.  It was stated that this piece seemed a little rushed, and that there wasn't enough insight given into Omi's motivations, or to the drastic shift in attitude at the end of the chapter on behalf of Yohji and Aya (and Omi).  

It IS a bit rushed from here on out.  Please keep in mind that as I was writing this, I was preparing to move to Japan, and then experiencing culture shock.  Despite the hectic atmosphere, I wanted to get this finished; as it stood, I worked on it for eleven months.  Had I not continued to work at it then, it would not have been completed.  This is not meant as an excuse, merely as an explanation.  At some point – when I have fewer projects and real-life issues distracting me – I do intend to rework some of these parts.  For right now, I'm going to do something I very rarely do.  I'm going to explain.   Appreciate it.

As far as Omi goes, he essentially broke under the combination of the stress of losing a teammate not once but twice and making the decision to abandon Ken to what is not likely to be a particularly kind fate.  I believe that under normal circumstances, Omi would be able to handle this turmoil, but there's obviously more to this case.  Not only does Omi have to cope with his own feelings of guilt and depression, he also has to handle both Yohji and Aya.  Aya is feeling both physical and psychological effects of his incarceration, and not coping well (I don't see Aya as being particularly flexible, which is why I feel it to be in character for him to react as he does).  Yohji's feelings for Ken (which he refuses to admit properly) and his guilt over abandoning him are now intertwined with his guilt over Asuka and dragging those issues back to light.  This is, of course, taking place in his subconscious, and even he doesn't realize that he's making this connection.  Therefore, Yohji is not handling the matter well either.  The end result is NOT a stable situation, and Omi can't handle everything going down simultaneously.  Trying to bury himself in his schoolwork only makes matters worse by adding to his burdens.  And so – he cracks.

The shift in attitude towards the end of the chapter I see as Weiss seeing the light, if you will excuse the pun.  They've gotten over Ken, for the most part.  They've done their mourning and they've all moved on.  And it's taken them some time to do this, and it's been difficult, but Yohji and Omi have realized this simultaneously. To seize the day is a particularly poignant philosophy for Weiss, I think, given their profession and the low probability of survival past the age of say, thirty.  They don't have the luxury of regret, and they're finally beginning to realize it.  Kritiker is forcing them to move onwards professionally by introducing new teammates into Weiss, and it's given them enough of a shock to get them back on track.  (It makes sense.  Really.  I swear.  It's a push in the right direction.)  The laughter is a symbol of their memory of Ken's life.  They are remembering how he lived instead of dwelling on the fact of his death.

…and if you're still here, the explanation of the last chapter has now run about even with this week's continuation, which is another intermission.  Sorry 'bout that.  Enjoy.

* * *

_Intermission Two: Ken_

Afterwards, he was never quite sure how he got back to Japan. He had hazy memories of cold and darkness, of rushing wind and pressure against his eardrums. He knew he had spent some time – he was pretty sure it was a short time; a few days, no more – in an American hospital. He'd refused to speak to them in English, pretending to greater disorientation than he actually felt. He'd been able to understand them discussing "detox" and "near poisoning" and once or twice "addiction", but he didn't particularly care what these Americans thought. As far as he was concerned, someone was coming for him or he was going to escape. 

After those few days, he'd determined that no one was indeed coming back for him, and he'd damn well better rescue himself. He was concerned, though; there was supposed to be someone else with him. He hadn't seen or heard anything about the redhead at all since well before the American hospital. The evening before he'd resolved to break out of said hospital, he'd spoken to one of the nurses as she did her routine checks, asking her if she'd seen his friend. He gave what he thought was a fairly accurate thumbnail description, but the nurse said that no, his friend wasn't in that hospital and as far as she knew no one matching that description had been found. 

It was about there that his admittedly unreliable memory failed him. He knew he was in Tokyo, and he knew there was… someone he had to find. The redhead he'd been concerned for was a part of it, he was sure. Trouble was, he had no idea where to start looking. He looked up at the cloudy sky, searching almost for some sort of sign. The sun sullenly refused to break through the gray covering, and he shivered slightly in the capricious early spring chill. 

"Hey, are you all right?" An insistent hand tugged on his sleeve, and he looked down to find a child staring up at him. "Ken-nii-san?" 

Ken. That was his name. He could feel the rightness of it. He smiled down at the kid, who apparently knew him. "Yeah, buddy, I'm okay." _Mustn't involve civilians._ He wasn't sure where the thought came from, but the force with which it struck him made him shudder physically. 

The kid looked worried now. Couldn't have been more than eight, maybe ten. Elementary school. "Ken-nii-san, stay here, okay? I'm gonna go find my mom." 

He nodded slowly. As soon as the child's back was turned, he used skills he hadn't known he possessed to slip away silently and mingle with the people on the sidewalk. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of jeans he didn't remember acquiring and walked on in search of something he couldn't quite define.

_End Intermission Two_


	8. Intermission Three: Aya

Hi, again.  ^.^  I'd like to thank those that reviewed and everyone who's been sticking with this fic.  This is the last intermission.  Next week's update is the epilogue and the final update of NV.  Thank you again.

* * *

_Intermission Three: Aya_

Aya hated making deliveries. Usually he could convince Omi or Ken to do it for him, but Omi was studying for some sort of exams and very short-tempered as a result. Privately, Aya felt that it was the lack of sleep added to the stress of both exams and missions, and thought that the problem could be solved by giving up one or the other. Predictably, Omi insisted – although in a rather out of character growl – that he was fully capable of doing both. 

Aya had given Yohji a Look, and Yohji had responded by clearly though nonverbally stating that it was Aya's problem, not his. Omi was Aya's boyfriend now, odd as that was. They were all slowly getting used to the idea; before Ken had been killed, they had all been used to going to any of their teammates for physical relief as well as out of feelings of affection and companionship. Now, Aya and Omi only turned to each other. The switch was partly due to the acquisition of a new teammate; none of them were quite sure how Somalian would respond to any type of overture, and she wasn't really one of them anyway. It was also partly due to the growing feelings Aya had for Omi, and which were enthusiastically reciprocated. 

They were the same feelings Yohji had once had for Ken. Aya wasn't sure if Yohji had been as successful at putting them behind him as he claimed, but Yohji seemed happy enough. The thought of Ken still hurt, but the hurt was gradually fading behind the memories. Like now; Ken would have positively enjoyed driving this silly pink truck through an uncharacteristic late-March snowfall. Ken had always liked the snow. 

Half-lost in his thoughts as he drove back towards the Koneko no Sume Ii, Aya nearly didn't see the figure that stumbled into the road ahead of him. Cursing, he wrenched the wheel to the side, skidding to a stop and nearly causing another accident on the snow-slick road. He climbed out of the truck just in time to see the person he'd almost hit collapse. He hadn't felt an impact… Struck by a sudden sense of dread and familiarity, Aya ran forward. 

The man was a mess; clothing tattered and clearly unsuitable for the cold, hair tangled and ill kempt. Aya carefully knelt down beside him, repressing the shudder of distaste. _Someone really should be taking care of this poor guy_, he thought distantly. _He obviously can't do it on his own._ "Are you all right?" he asked. 

The man raised his head at the sound of Aya's voice. The feeling of familiarity intensified. Then the man opened his eyes and smiled. "I knew you'd come for me, Aya." With those words, he passed out again. 

Aya, feeling as if he'd been hit by the biggest damned hammer ever forged, stared down at the supine form of Ken Hidaka. 

_End Intermission Three_


	9. Epilogue: Equilibrium

I started this fic exactly one year ago, to the day.  It's been difficult, but it's been a lot of fun.  I put a lot of time and effort and thought into it, and as far as I'm concerned, every second was worth it.  I hope that those of you who are reading this have enjoyed it as much as I have.  This _is_ the last chapter of NV.  A sequel is planned but will not be started until I finish the other projects upon which I am currently working ("Turn Around", "Brightly Shone the Light", and "Bakuryu Change!").  

I would like to say, before you start reading, thank you to the following people for their kind words: Deora, MistyEyes, mibu no ookami, methodic madness, oblivious, Siberian, beriath, Blade6, Moki-chan, shini-kuma, les-mizerable, Hele, Snowshoe koneko, ariestar48, Pinky-Cat, sammi, Tao, Gnine, Bengali, tyne, Aikawa Fuuko, and elfgoddess, in chronological order. ^.~  I would also like to say that I was told – several times – by native German speakers that "verlassung" is not technically a word in German.  As I speak fluent German, I am aware of this.  It was the closest I would come to the concept I wished to express.  'sides, language is fluid, right? Right? ::eyes stick-wielding crowd::   ^.^;;  

Uh… on to the conclusion.

* * *

_Epilogue: Equilibrium_

Somalian, unlike any of her new teammates, was quite new to the world of Kritiker and her duties as an assassin. However, like most of the rest of Kritiker's field agents, there had been a defining event in her past that had caused her to throw her lot in with this vigilante organization. 

She just didn't remember exactly what it was. 

It didn't particularly bother her that she didn't know why she was with Kritiker; she just wanted to do the best she could. As far as she was concerned, they had saved her from a terrible fate and she wanted to repay them insofar at it was possible. 

Somalian had been mortified over her failure during her first mission; it was with profound relief and gratitude that she met the news that she was to continue as a member of Weiss. Manx apparently felt that the heavy makeup and liberal amounts of multicolored hair gel she'd worn to fit in at the club were enough of a disguise to keep her identity secret. Even Abyssinian, upon seeing the pictures of her circulated on the evening news, had had to agree. 

In the fairly short time since then, she'd done everything in her power to prevent a repeat of the incident. The rest of Weiss had each given her compliments and encouragement, in their individual ways. Many people would have been unable to see the motivations underneath the actions, but Somalian's one area of outstanding skill was her ability to read people. Omi smiled. Yohji brushed her shoulder in passing. Aya… acknowledged her presence. 

Somalian treasured the small gestures for what they were; signs of tolerance but not acceptance. Weiss, having lost one of its own, would never accept anyone again. The name of "Weiss" continued, but its _being_ would not. The core of what Weiss truly was rested only in those four young men. Somalian rather thought Persia, at least, understood that, for Weiss had not been broken up as Manx had recommended. She herself was well aware that her stint with the team would be comparably very brief, and that her replacement would be equally short-lived. So it would continue, flexibility ranked above relative stability, until the four original members of Weiss were gone, and then perhaps even the name would be retired to live in hushed whispers and legend among the select few chosen to work outside the law. 

For her part, Somalian simply watched her teammates, aware but not minding that she shared no real bond with any of them. There was enough warmth between them to keep her satisfied as an observer, and she absently catalogued their usual behavior to form a purely mental character profile and analysis. 

So it was that when Aya called the shop after spending far too long on deliveries, even accounting for the unseasonable snowstorm, she could hear the unmistakable signs of extreme tension in his inexpressive voice. He demanded to speak to either Yohji or Omi. She handed Yohji the phone, as he was the closest, and watched the blood drain out of his face and the handset drop from suddenly nerveless fingers. Omi picked it up from where it had fallen, and when he hung it back up, he looked as shell-shocked as Yohji. He told her to watch the shop until they returned. Somalian didn't ask where they were going; she knew they wouldn't tell her. That was just the way it was. 

* * *

Aya was waiting for them when they arrived; he'd taken Ken to the closest hospital without Kritiker ties. Even so, it was only a matter of time before Kritiker showed up to take the situation out of their hands again. 

"We have a problem," were the first words out of his mouth. 

Yohji ignored him. "How is he?" 

"What?" Aya looked as if he had no idea what Yohji was referring to. 

"How. Is. Ken." A mixture of relief, dread, and anticipation had been threatening to overwhelm Yohji from the moment he heard Aya's impassive voice announce that he'd found Ken, alive and in Tokyo, and the only issue he was capable of thinking of was Ken's wellbeing. The possible consequences hadn't even occurred to him. 

"He'll be fine," Aya said, as if it were a matter of course. "But –" 

"He'll be fine? What's wrong?" Yohji crossed the distance between himself and Aya in two swift steps. He was ready to shove Aya against the wall and demand answers, but Omi's hand on his shoulder pulled him back. 

"Yohji-kun, Aya's right. We do have a problem." He chewed on his lower lip. "Kritiker… has been worried about Ken representing an unacceptable security risk since we were forced to leave him behind. I have reason to believe that he was a target for another Kritiker team." 

Yohji restrained his instinctive shout, and all that emerged was an extremely undignified and strangled yelp. "You… Why didn't you tell us?" he asked when he got his voice under control. 

Omi opened his mouth, shut it again, and glanced at Aya. Yohji followed his gaze. Aya was intently studying the hallway, looking for all the world as if he were simply scanning the surrounding area, but Yohji saw the faint blush on his cheeks. 

"You told _Aya_, and not me?" 

"We… That is, I… You couldn't have done anything, Yohji. Neither could we. But as far as Kritiker is concerned, Ken may still be a target." 

"Or he may not." Aya still wasn't looking at Yohji, but the blush was gone. "We didn't know for sure." 

"But if he is –" Yohji started. 

"Ken is not now a target." Birman had somehow managed to sneak up on all three of them without any of them noticing. "There was no security leak." 

"There… wasn't?" Omi asked weakly. 

"No." Birman's voice was brisk. "However, regarding his physical condition… he's suffering from withdrawal from various chemical substances, malnutrition, and exposure. Fortunately, for both Siberian and Weiss, he should make a full recovery within a reasonable length of time. Following his recovery and reinstatement as a field agent, Weiss will be remobilized in its previous incarnation." 

Aya had not relaxed; he was continuing to scan the hallway and listen to something that none of the rest of them could hear. "Why is there an agent in the room with Ken?" he asked abruptly, before Birman could reply. 

"Oh, you noticed, did you?" Birman smiled. "You can go ahead and go in, if you like, but he's not awake yet." 

Yohji nodded thanks and walked as quickly as he could without actually running. He could hear Birman starting to explain something to Omi and Aya about Ken's current status with Kritiker and the apparent lack of disseminated information – it seemed she'd sent in a recon team after Ken had turned up in Tokyo – but paid no attention. He could always get Omi to repeat it later. 

He pushed the door to Ken's room open almost hesitantly, not entirely certain of what he'd find. The Kritiker agent stationed in the room stepped back as he entered, slipping out with a deferential nod. Yohji slowly pulled the curtains back from around the bed. 

Ken looked like hell. 

Yohji reached out and carefully brushed the too-long, brittle hair out of Ken's eyes, fingertips lingering for a few bare seconds on the dark circles underneath. Ken's skin was pale, almost translucent, and he'd lost so much weight over the last months… 

"Oh, Kenken." It hurt just to look at him. 

Ken's hands lay on the coverlet. Yohji entangled his fingers in Ken's, gently rubbing them, trying to impart what warmth he could. Ken's fingers tightened on his, just slightly. Yohji's breath caught. This really was Ken. He was back, and alive, and would survive. 

"Everything's going to be all right, Kenken. You'll see. It'll all be fine." He pressed a gentle kiss to the slender fingers entwined with his own. 

In his drugged and healing sleep, Ken smiled. 

_Over… or continue?_


End file.
